


Brego's Mistress

by hannah_jpg



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Don't say I didn't warn you, F/M, Mushy and Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-05-28 20:26:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 26
Words: 68,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6343957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannah_jpg/pseuds/hannah_jpg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The dark clouds of war threaten the peace of the Westfold . . . and not least of all the horse breeders that reside there. Patrols first bring the Prince of Rohan into the vicinity of a young girl, and her liveliness keeps him returning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The colt was born during a star-filled night at the beginning of spring. Labor had been difficult for its mother, but the crooning and soft singing from the young girl attending the birth had a calming affect on all four participants. The prince would not have normally helped during a birth, even one of horses, but he had been wandering the flowing grasses of the prairie with troubling thoughts. Having heard the mare's cries of pain, it was a simple matter to find her, and the girl soothing the skittish mare had welcomed his help. His part had been to pull the slippery bundle out of the mare - gruesome, but rewarding.

The girl had brought a single lantern, but when the colt was rubbed clean with grass and patted dry by the girl's own cloak, Theodred had to admire the beautiful star on its forehead. "He'll be a handsome one," he murmured, not wishing to startle either horse.

"He certainly will," the girl replied, rubbing the colt's ears as she helped it to find its mother's milk. "And he'll be fast. His sire is one of Shadowfax's own offspring."

"Truly?" he asked, delighted. Already he was feeling a measure of bonding towards the colt, and knowing that he himself was one of the privileged few that could own it, he felt immeasurably and inexplicitly pleased. The girl smiled politely, but her attention was obviously elsewhere. She began to sing a Rohirric lullaby, and with a pang, Theodred recognized it as one he had heard his aunt sing to his cousins when they were young. No one had sung to him. "What is to be his fate?" he asked, breaking the calm with a rather abrasive tone.

"I will return them to my father's house," she said, stroking the mare's withers now that the colt had latched. "I am responsible for his horses from birth until sale or breeding. He will start his training next summer, and he'll be mine until one of the king's family takes him away." She did not seem entirely pleased at the prospect, and he inquired after her hesitation. She paused only for a moment before answering, her eyes still on the horses. "I bond quickly to my charges. I am wrapped in pain whenever one is sold, though I know it is necessary. Royalty has right to our best steeds, and they are not required to pay. For every one that goes to the king, we lose the cost of any other three we might sell."

This was new information to the prince. He had not questioned where his own current stallion came from, as his father having given him as a present for a long ago birthday. He felt injustice rising in him, witnessing the genuine affection this woman had for the mare and the colt, and he knew firsthand how powerful an attachment to a horse could be. The thought that she had not recognized him as the king's son, and treated him as she would her equal, did not even enter his mind.

He leaned forward to scratch the colt's long neck, already decided that he would pay for the colt when the time came. "I think I love you already," he whispered to himself. Though not meant to hear, the girl's head whipped towards him, her brows narrowed in suspicion.

"Who are you?" she asked. For the first time that night, her voice was not sweet and loving, but rather demanding. He paused, considering whether to answer.

"I am a Rider," he finally said. Not exactly a lie. "And I am most interested in purchasing a horse from your father in the future. Will you tell me his name and where he sells from?"

"My father is Gerdhelm, and he dwells two miles from where we are now, near the village Isenburg."

"And what is your name, that I might inquire after your health, and be assured that the horse I choose has been raised in your care?"

"I am Léofe."


	2. Chapter 2

**_Four years later._ **

 

Léofe clicked her tongue, loosening her hold on the rope secured to Brego’s halter. At her command, he began trotting. She watched his legs carefully. His back left leg did not rise as high as the others.  _ Hmm _ . “Brego, come!” He did not cease his trotting as he approached, and she had to laugh. This one loved to show himself off, and so it left her further perplexed that his leg was faltering during a simple trot. Brego was obviously unconcerned, and he blew hot breath into her face before trying to taste her hair. “Stop!” she said, placing a hand firmly on his muzzle. He snorted, but did as she bid. “Good boy!” She tickled his chin whiskers, giggling and cooing at him. “Who is my favorite boy? Who is my favorite friend? Yes, it’s you! It’s you, Brego!” 

 

The gate to the paddock opened with a creak. Knowing it could only be her father, she called, “About time you came, Papa! I was just going to fetch you to see Brego’s paces. He is outperforming geldings twice his age!”

 

“That is good news, goosey,” his voice answered, and in confusion, she noticed that his normal enthusiastic manners were tempered somewhat. She turned, and saw to her astonishment a richly armored man towering over her father, contrasting Gerdhelm’s worn out wool clothing and crooked posture.  _ Oh no.  _ And as if to punctuate the pain that he was unknowingly bringing, his eyes were travelling over Brego with marked interest and a measure of sophisticated arrogance, as if the stallion was already his.

 

“Léofe, come here, child,” Gerdhelm held out a hand towards her, and her stomach sank. She knew why a nobleman would be here. Perhaps he was even a marshal. She tied Brego’s rope to a picket, and approached the men with no small amount of trepidation. 

 

“I am Théodred, Mistress Léofe,” he said, and as she looked critically in his face, wishing to find fault, she found his features familiar somehow. But when could she have met the king’s son? The prince! The prince was standing in her muddy corral!

 

“You humble our home by visiting,” she said, sweeping into a curtsey that she felt would rival any high-born lady. He had a crooked half-smile, and the force of it hit her rather hard. 

 

“I have come here today, Mistress Léofe, in search of a new mount. My Firebreath recently got on the wrong end of an orc mace. My eored happened to be passing on patrol and I remembered the fame of the horses from your father’s farm.”

 

“Firebreath?” she asked in surprise. “Was his dam Sunshadow?”

 

Now he seemed to be hiding laughter, though she did not know why. “Indeed, mistress. I was unaware you had interest in horse lines.”

 

“I do not choose the breeding myself, of course,” Léofe said. “But I will when I inherit my father’s farm. Pray do not look so shocked, Papa!” A choking noise had escaped her father, and the prince had compressed his lips together, though he did not seem displeased at her comment. “Anyway, my mother trained Firebreath herself, he should have known better than to let himself get cut.” Feeling bold, knowing that this man, despite being her prince, was her adversary, she lifted her chin high. 

 

“He escaped worse odds,” the prince said, his voice becoming somewhat solemn. “But he was getting old, nigh on twenty-two years. He was given to me when I was but nineteen, many years ago now.”

 

Léofe’s gaze dropped as her cheeks burned. Of course Firebreath would have been old! Horses did not last forever, even her mother’s, which had been famed across the Mark as the highest standard. 

 

“Prince Théodred requested that you assist him in choosing a stallion,” Gerdhelm cut in. 

 

“He - he did?”

 

“And I am on a rather tight schedule, if it is all the same to you, mistress. I would prefer to have my new mount bought by sundown.”

 

“Will you take supper with us, sire?” her father asked.

 

“I would be honored. One does tire of patrol rations, and it is good luck to end business with refreshment.” At the prince’s aquascience, Gerdhelm lumbered back towards the house.

 

“Come with me.” Léofe’s words were clipped, and with a frosty stare she directed him towards the stables. Rather than walking in front of her, as she had expected, he instead matched her pace. “We have none experienced in battle,” she said as they entered the musty building, blinking to adjust to the dimmer light. “You might find an inexperienced mount difficult to ride, sire.”

 

“I have a remount that I am currently riding. I intend to continue to ride him until my new mount is fully trained.”

 

“I see.” The stallions were housed towards the end of the stables, where the stalls had been built considerably wider. “This is Dark Shadow,” she said, snapping her fingers at a black stallion, who immediately stuck his nose out to investigate. “He is our largest, but he becomes slow if he runs too long.”

 

“What are his bloodlines?”

 

The show-and-tell went similarly for all nine of the stallions. Léofe explained their virtues and vices, as well as their lines, and the prince entered each stall to examine them more closely. Finally, after having looked especially close at the last, a bay with an ego, the prince left the stall with a frown forming on his brow. “Have you chosen?” Léofe asked.

 

The prince tipped forward on his feet, breathing deeply and staring into the distance, as if deep in thought. “Do you have any stallions of a younger age?” he asked. 

 

Dread filled her stomach in a pool of iron. She had known, as soon as she had seen the prince staring at Brego, exactly which horse he intended to buy. Showing him the other stallions had been an attempt on her part to dissuade him. She did not want to give up her lovely Brego! “I am sure you saw Brego as you entered,” she said, forcing politeness into every word. “He is the youngest, and not fully trained.”

 

“May I see him?”

 

“I do not recommend your purchase of him,” she said quickly. “He needs more time with me.”

 

“I ask again. May I see him?”

 

She was unable to hide a scowl, which seemed to amuse the prince though he did not comment as she led him back into the corral. Against her will, she found herself watching from afar as the prince and Brego began their bonding. It was obvious they were intended for each other. Brego had only shown such affection to one other - Léofe herself. The prince was unused to Brego’s tactics, however, and she smirked to herself as a large chunk of his hair disappeared between the horse’s lips. 

 

“Blast it!” the prince cried, and he swatted Brego’s nose. 

 

“I wish you luck in training that out of him,” Léofe commented, stepping forward to rub Brego’s neck. “I have been trying ever since he could reach my hair.”

 

“I do not blame him for trying to nab your scalp,” the prince said, with a half-smile, though he did not meet her eyes. “Your hair is such a lovely color.”

 

_ What an odd comment! _ Léofe frowned. “He’s a stubborn git, but he has a wonderful heart.”

 

“And his vices? You did not hesitate to tell me of the faults of the other stallions.”

 

She sighed, leaning a cheek against Brego’s warm fur and closing her eyes briefly. “His only weakness is that I love him too much.”

 

For the first time, a look of discomfort passed on the prince’s face. “I am sorry, Léofe, that I am taking him away. I hate to cause anyone pain. If it is any consolation, I cannot take him for a year yet. I intend to return every few months to do some training myself.”

 

_ You have already caused my pain!  _ she thought. But out loud she said, “Swear to care for him, and I will be content.” It did not occur to her that she was not really in a position to give orders to a prince. But he seemed to take it in good humor, and bowed to her slightly.

 

“I swear it shall be done.”

 

“Very good.”

 

“And further -” He suddenly reached a hand into his tunic, and pulled out a small bag that jingled. “For your expense and investment in raising him, I feel it fitting to compensate you. Perhaps it will take away some of the sting.”

 

He placed the pouch in her hand, which she weighed briefly. There had to be twenty gold crowns at least! “This is ridiculous, sire,” she said, trying to give it back to him. “You do not need to pay.”

 

“I wish to be fair.”

 

Léofe gritted her teeth. “We do not need your charity!” The prince frowned slightly at her words, and she stammered as she realized her rudeness. “That is, we will be well set once the traders come through. It is against Rohirric law to charge a member of the king’s family for a steed, and I do not wish to stand trial in front of your father.”

 

He reached out and closed his fist over hers, encasing the bag within her grip. Even though he wore gloves, she found herself reeling at the sensation of being touched. Since her mother died, she had only been touched by horses through nudges and an occasional kick. Gerdhelm had certainly never been one for fatherly embraces. “I would testify on your behalf should such a tragedy occur,” he said. “Please.”

 

“Fine,” she snapped. “He is yours now! Take him now or next year, whichever you prefer. I will continue training him until then. But our business today is concluded. I am sure your eored will be missing your royal presence!”

 

The prince regarded her solemnly. “Pray remember, I was invited to dine with your father tonight. If you insist, I shall of course return to my eored, but I would rather prefer something other than patrol rations.”

 

Her annoyance rising to untold levels, Léofe grumbled to herself as she led the prince to where she and her father lived. The house had been built very close to the stables, for birthing season they might need to rush out two, three times each night. She directed him towards the well for a wash, and she entered the kitchen with a  _ bang _ ! 

 

“Quickly, lass, put these on the table!” Gerdhelm had scraped together their best produce and preserves for a respectable table. Fortunately the prince had been living off worse, and he praised the meal profusely as they ate. Léofe felt no need to contribute to the conversation, instead simmering with resentment towards the man across from her while she pushed the pickled green beans back and forth on her plate. Her appetite was gone, and tears pricked her eyes. She did not want Brego taken away, now or later! 

 

“There is an adage among the riders in Aldburg,” the prince said suddenly, his gaze drawn to Léofe. “That a stallion born at night is the best to ride into battle. Is this true, mistress?”

 

“I cannot know,” she said, straightening her back. “My experience is with horses untrained in battle. Any way -” A thought struck her, and she stared at the prince. “Why do you bring this topic to the table, sire?”

 

Gerdhelm nearly choked at her rudeness, but the prince only looked disconcerted. “I - your father mentioned it - I think?” he said, looking to Gerdhelm for help.

 

“He could not have,” Léofe said. “He was in Edoras to purchase new mares during the birth, and I was left alone. Except -” Oh, what a fool she had been! Of course the prince looked familiar. Brego’s birth had been difficult, even with her experience, and it would be difficult to forget a happenstance friend’s help. “It was you,” she said, staring at him. “You were the stranger that night!”

 

“Well, yes.” Now he looked distinctly uncomfortable.

 

“I see.”

 

Silence ensued for several long moments, and abruptly Gerdhelm inquired the prince about the king’s health. A jar of preserved peaches was brought to the table for a sweet treat, and as soon as her father stood to end the meal, Léofe dashed for the door. 

 

Her nightly routine of taking each horse for a quick exercise was normally her favorite part of the day, as she did enjoy the sunsets, but the prince’s visit still disturbed her. Brego was no longer hers. Everytime she would reach to pet him, she would see the prince’s face in her mind, and remember. His face on that starlit night, which she had dreamt about afterwards. A handsome man was dangerous, a prince was perhaps more so, but man that was both? She was in danger of forgiving him for both his lie and his theft.

 

“Oi, Moonlight! Check your paces!” she shouted at the grey blush mare, tugging on the lead rein gently. This horse was easily distracted, and it showed. The mare turned to her and snorted, as if to say,  _ I exercise all the time. It’s not every day I see a butterfly! Have a heart! _

 

Footsteps suddenly sounded behind her, and Léofe turned and saw the prince approaching, leading a saddled gelding, which must have been his remount. Instead of standing a respectable distance away, he had come right up to her. She had to look up to see his eyes, which seemed regretful. And quite a beautiful shade of brown! Léofe shook herself and the prince spoke. “I cannot say that I am at ease for purchasing Brego, but I felt a bond with him from the night that he was born. I feel that he is destined to be mine.”

 

“And I cannot argue that point,” she said. “For I know it as well. I can see it.”

 

A half-smile formed on his face, and despite having spent the afternoon in his company, Léofe still found it staggering. “Though I bow to your obvious experience with him. I look forward to hearing your advice in training. You might even consider him still half-yours, with your influence and care.”

 

_ Half-hers _ . Never before could she have claimed to own any part of a horse, as her father often reminded her. She was simply their caretaker. Knowing that Brego could still be a part of her and she a part of him made her heart swell with warmth, and she smiled. “I would be happy to share, sire.”

 

He pressed his lips to her knuckles, a sensation entirely alien to her and completely pleasurable, and she could only stare as the prince mounted the gelding (a very fine figure he had), and rode away until he disappeared in the spring’s tall, lush grasses.


	3. Chapter 3

When summer came, it was unbearably and unseasonably hot. Léofe was miserable. Her bed stood beneath an east facing window, and she would wake in a sweat nearly as soon as the sun broke the horizon. Even the horses were sluggish, and she had to hurry to finish her chores before noon so that she could retreat into the shade of the house for the afternoon.

On one such morning she woke later than usual, having been awake most of the night with a laboring mare. A filly had been born only a few hours earlier, but had not begun to breathe properly. Newly born horses died only seldom; her experience had brought many around to life when they would have died otherwise. But she had not been able to help this time. She had woken her father just before dawn, begging him to dig the grave at once so that she could seek her own bed before the day started. It seemed that he called for her to wake just as her eyes had closed, the images of the filly's unmoving body and the pained shrieks of its mother that echoed in her mind keeping her tense and alert.

Léofe sat for several minutes on the edge of her bed with her head in her hands, torn between the warm sun on her back and the anguish in her heart. Gerdhelm called again, his loud shout echoing in the house. He was not usually so abrasive, so she guessed that they had buyers. She moaned and pulled herself up, and over to the washstand, splashing lukewarm water on her face and wishing dearly it could have been cold. Anything to lessen her misery. The heat, the grief, and now she was likely to lose a friend. This day was not shaping to be a good one.

"Léofe!" Her father limped through the doorway, barking out her name as she lingered at the washstand. "Dress nicely now, the prince has come to spend the day with Brego."

The prince had returned! Léofe sighed and wondered if now her day was going to be better or worse for it. "Why should I dress nicely?" she asked. "You said yourself that he is here for Brego. I doubt he will even look my way."

"It is a courtesy, goosey."

"But my clothing will only get ruined," she continued to protest. "I have chores."

Gerdhelm considered her for a moment. "Hurry and finish your chores, then come in and change before the midday meal."

"Yes, Papa."

Léofe had not thought it possible, but the stable loft was even hotter than the house. It must have been the sweaty horses, she decided, who were all lying around, flicking their tails lazily at the flies. She scooped up the hay with a pitchfork and tossed it down into each stall, many years of practice ensuring that nearly all of the hay landed right in the feedboxes. She paused after finishing with one side of the stable, wiping her sweaty brows and wishing dearly for a blizzard.

A clopping of hooves near the stable door, and her attention was drawn to the prince, who was followed by an unhaltered Brego. "Perhaps your mistress is in here," the prince murmured to the horse, though not so quietly that she could not hear. "You must beg her for an apple, as I haven't the foggiest idea where they are kept."

"In the cellar," she called, tucking the pitchfork under her arm as she began to climb down the ladder. "I can fetch one if you would like, sire."

He showed only the merest trace of surprise to see her, and at his unexpected scrutiny Léofe was suddenly very aware of how much she was sweating. She blushed, though she was certain her face was already quite red enough to disguise it, and made a mental note to keep her arms down.

"I would be most grateful, mistress," the prince said, inclining his head.

Léofe heaved up the pitchfork onto the other side of the loft (why the attics were not connected, she had no clue), and then blushed again as she realized she had already forgotten to keep her arms down. _Dunce!_ she told herself. _Dunce, dunce, dunce!_

The door to the cellar was located outside the barn, and she hurried into its cool, dark depths - lingering only for a moment to breathe in the clean air - before she returned to the stable with her apron full of apples. "I brought extra," she said. "I thought you might enjoy one as well, sire, as you have been in the sun with Brego all morning."

"That is very kind, mistress," he said, and she was rewarded with a half-smile. She could have sighed happily at the sight of it, but she still felt too miserable. The prince picked a pair of apples from her loot, surrendering one to Brego's eager lips while he bit into the second. Léofe did sigh at that - before the prince came along, Brego had only eaten from her own hands. She stared for a moment more, at both horse and master, before the master turned to her with a questioning look. "Pray do not let us delay you further," he said.

"Oh! No, you were not delaying me at all," she said. "I am only a bit tired. Enjoy your apples!" She half-ran away, tossing an apple into each stall clumsily, when she would have normally taken the time to talk to each horse. She hid her flushed face as she climbed into the loft, and resumed her work.

Thankfully, within a few minutes the prince and Brego were gone again, presumably to the water trough outside. She stopped her motions, and then sighed again. What was it about that prince that made her act so ridiculous? And her feelings did not sit quite right either.

Léofe finished with the hay, and then drew water from the well to fill the outside trough, as well as the troughs in each of the stalls. She would have to ration out the oats for the evening meal - their stores were running low. Perhaps before their own supper she could clean the house a bit, if the prince showed a desire to stay for the evening meal as well. She washed her hands with the last of her hauled water, throwing it outside on the yellow grass, and then walked back to the house, swinging the bucket at her side. As she came around the barn, she stopped dead in her tracks at the sight that greeted her from the fenced training grounds, catching her breath.

The summer heat had obviously gotten to the prince; he had shed his tunic and was leading Brego through his exercises with a bare torso. He was tanned from the sun, with his hair pulled back she could easily admire the contours of his muscled back. _Great Bema above…_ A stirring through her body jolted Léofe. She could not claim to know much about the nature of love between men and women, but she had a notion that she was experiencing some semblance of it. Brego was trotting around in a circle, and even as she stood the prince turned in her direction. He waved in her direction, and she gaped at his chest before closing her mouth with a snap. Could he have seen her ogling? She would be so embarrassed if he had! She picked up her skirt and high-tailed it to the house, blushing all the way.

Léofe still felt red as she rolled a pie crust for supper. Gerdhelm had informed her that indeed, the prince intended to stay for supper. Just her luck! At least she had found an old clean dress, even if it was threadbare and barely reached the top of her ankles. She gently lifted the crust and placed it in a skillet, and while she wiped her hands her father nudged her away from the stove.

"I'll fill it," he said, brandishing a knife at a pile of vegetables. "Make the table pretty, won't you?"

She was hard-pressed to find anything green outside, but when the three of them sat down together she felt unreasonably proud and incredibly self-conscious. There were cattails from the stream, and a few violets she had found underneath the shade of a tree, both placed meticulously in their second nicest drinking cup. The best cup was currently in the prince's hand as he drank, admiring the sight of the shining clean house.

"It is quite pleasant to be in a home," he said as Gerdhelm sliced into the steaming pie. "It is no secret that we soldiers grow tired of tents and wilderness."

"Oh aye, I imagine so," Gerdhelm said, placing a large serving in front of the prince. "But we remain grateful for the safety you give us to practice our trades and raise our families."

The prince gave him only a polite smile, and Léofe did not think it quite reached his eyes. His face seemed impassive. "You must not think our house is so clean all the time," she said quickly, in an attempt to distract both men from what she thought had been an awkward silence. "Papa lazes around quite a bit, poring over his old studbooks, and he normally lets the chores go to waste."

"Oi, miss!" Gerdhelm mumbled. "Don't speak so disparaging of your pa!"

"I do believe she was teasing you," the prince cut in, smiling slyly at her. "However much time you devote to your business, it is well invested. I do not hesitate to say that your farm is the best run that I have come across."

Gerdhelm blushed slightly. "I might have agreed with you once, sire. But the raids have dampened the enthusiasm of those that might buy our stock."

"How often do the traders come through?"

Léofe ate her pie in silence, alternatively ignoring the conversation and listening closely whenever the prince spoke. He had such a wonderful voice - deep and vibrating, but gentle. His odd way of speaking must have come from tutors and academics, something that was very absent in the nearby village. She glanced at him as often as she dared through the cattails that stood between them. And everytime, without fail - her heart skipped a beat. She could not quite decide if she was foolish or if her infatuation was not so hopeless, for from his wry looks she deduced that the prince did not ignore _her_.

She cleared the table of dishes when her father asked her to do so, and was about to make her escape back to the stables and the only place where she knew her own feelings, but the prince stopped her.

"I brought a sweet treat to share," he said, motioning for her to sit again. "We had a man come to Edoras a not two weeks ago bearing imports from the southern fiefs of Gondor."

Léofe could only sit stiffly, twisting her fingers in her apron. _Why does he not let me leave!_ She felt that staying longer would be more detrimental against her peace of mind. The prince pulled a small wrapped package from a pocket, and opened it to reveal something yellow and candied, which he placed on the table.

"They call it _ananas_ ," he explained. "It's quite sweet, and delicious. Please help yourself - it is the least I can do to repay your generosity to me."

"I thought that all trade stopped with Stoneland," Gerdhelm commented, picking up a piece of the ananas and looking skeptical.

"It has slowed, certainly," the prince said, chewing thoughtfully on his own portion. "But trade has not ceased. I believe that is a simple rumor, spread by those who do not support the old alliances."

Léofe placed the ananas in her mouth, and her eyes widened. She had never tasted anything so flavorful and bright, and immediately reached for more. The prince saw this, and laughed.

"I am gratified to find that you enjoy the ananas so," he said, and she looked up to see his eyes twinkling at her. He had very nice eyes; not only a beautifully brown color, but kind as well. She blushed, feeling shameful of her trembling in his gaze, but rather shameless as she ate more of the fruit.

"I must go," she said, and stood. "I need to exercise the horses."

"I will do the cleaning then," Gerdhelm said. Léofe smiled at him, which he returned gruffly.

The prince was now standing as well, and his eyes were fixed on Léofe. "I wish to see Brego again before I depart. May I walk with you, mistress?"

"If you would like," she said, not daring to look him lest he see the flush creeping up her neck. The prince pulled the door shut, and held out his arm to her.

"Mistress," he said, and she felt that he was daring her to accept. Which she did, with her chin lifted and a haughty pull on her lips. Anything to disguise how the feeling of his muscled arm beneath the palm of her hand was pummeling her! They began walking towards the stables. "I must thank you personally and profusely, Mistress Léofe, for you and your father's hospitality to me today."

"You are welcome to come at anytime."

"Yes, I imagined you might say that," he said, and she was surprised to see discomfort in his features. "May I ask you a personal question?"

She frowned in response.

"That is, you are not obliged to answer. I only wish to know if I have offended you in any way, that I may repair the damage done."

"No," she said softly. "There has been no offense."

"Then I wonder what it is that causes you to hate the very sight of me."

And she had been trying so hard to keep her feelings in check! "Er…" she said. "I only dread the day that you take Brego away. I do not exaggerate when I say that he is my best friend. But I did not conceal this from you at our first...that is to say, second meeting."

They had reached the stable doors, and the prince dropped her hand, reaching for her shoulders to turn her to face him. The setting sun blazed a glorious light in his face. "I never intended to cause you pain," he said quietly. "But please allow me to make reparation. If I have taken from you your best friend, might I fill that void with my own friendship?"

_No!_ Léofe wanted to scream. She did not want friendship from him! She wanted to jump into his arms and kiss his lusciously full lips to brand him as hers alone. Her knees were shaking slightly, and she thought she might have fallen were it not for his sure grip on her arms. "If you would like," she said, voice trembling slightly. She bit her lip. "I am sure that if _you_ feel that your offer properly pays the debt, then it is. Though I wonder what use a prince has for the acquaintance of a maid that spends all her time with horses."

Now his lips were pressed close together; her comment had obviously displeased him in some way. But he did not address it. "Very well," he said. "Then I shall take your leave now. Farewell, mistress. I will return again in two weeks."


	4. Chapter 4

Léofe bolted the door behind her, shivering and drawing her shawl tighter around her shoulders as the early dawn's chill penetrated her thin clothing. She had put off her town errands for too long, and now she was sufficiently punished for the delay. Frost decorated the house and the dead gardens, and it would not melt until the sun had properly risen. Which was unlikely to occur until she had walked the six miles into town anyway.

Her one condolence, which she grimly appreciated as she stamped across the yard - was that her father had taken the time to patch her winter boots - again. She had been wearing them each winter for the last eight years or more, and they pinched something terrible, but it was better than bare feet and the patches were sound. She drew in a deep breath before blowing it into a foggy mist in front of her face, adjusting the basket she carried higher in the crook of her arm. Despite the cold, her walk was peaceful, and the silence of the hilly ground comforted her, for the birds were at last completely absent for the season. She had arrived at the faded dirt track that led into the village just as the sun was breaking the horizon, and just as she saw a trio of riders approaching her at a fast trot.

Blast and damn! Was there to be no peace after all? She skittered to to the left, leaving plenty of space between the path and herself, lowering her head as she quickened her steps. The heavy stamps and snorting breaths of the horses seemed too loud, the clanks of the riders' armor almost vulgar in the desolate autumn. She had almost passed them completely when fate decided against her, after all.

"Léofe!"

Her heart nearly stopped, and she whirled around to see the prince rein in his gelding towards her. She felt rooted to the spot, being nearly and suddenly surrounded by three very large horses with three fierce warriors - or rather, two warriors and one prince, the last of whom was wearing an expression of surprise, and she felt - not one of displeasure at seeing her.

"Good morning, my lord," she said, bowing quickly. "Please do not cease your ride on my behalf."

He waved her comment away. "It is nothing. What brings you into such an unforgiving journey at such an early hour?"

"I am travelling to town, is all," she said, very aware of the scrutiny of his companions. "I mean to set my father and I up for the winter, when we cannot go to the village for supplies at all."

"In this cold? Surely not!"

"It is my own fault," she admitted. "I have put off the trip for far too long. I am justly rewarded."

The prince briefly exchanged a glance with the man to his right, who shrugged. "Allow me," he said to her. "I - or we, rather - would be happy to escort into town and return you safely home, that your journey may be considerably shortened."

She flushed. "Please, sire. There is no need. It is not so far a distance, and I have made the journey before."

"I will hear no argument!" He was smiling at her now, and her resolve weakened. She adjusted her strategy.

"Er - while I would be very thankful for any assistance, I cannot, er...travel in such a situation on my own. There is little enough gossip in Isenburg; any minor scandal might send many a matriarch into an early grave."

One of the men chuckled, and she sent him a withering stare. Her reputation was not to be laughed at! But the prince was still smiling as he spoke again. "I admit to not quite believing you to be a woman of such concerns, mistress."

She pursed her lips, debated what sort of scathing remark she could make in the presence of his men without expecting some sort of royal retribution. "It is not my concerns that matter, my lord, nearly as much as the concerns of others, in whose good graces I hope to remain," she forced through gritted teeth.

"I imagine that having a marshal sponsor you might do the trick," he said, and he guided the gelding until it stood right next to her, and she was looking straight up into the prince's face, feeling massively dwarfed, not in least by the gilded golden armor he wore. He held out a gloved hand.

Ride with the prince! Was he mad? Perhaps - but not nearly as mad as she would be if she accepted. She considered this for only half a moment before taking the prince's hand and pulling herself on top of the horse, settling herself in front of him, holding her basket in her lap rigidly. Anyway, everyone in the village thought she was mad already.

"Relax," he said to her in a low voice, and with his men falling in behind them, he nudged the gelding into a gentle trot. His arm that held the reins was very close to her waist, and she found it hugely disconcerting. "You are perfectly safe, both riding Thunderbite as well as in my company. And as for my men - they are friends, really, I should have introduced you."

"Oh, I am sorry," she said, only taking in some of his words and attempting to sit less stiffly. She bounced slightly, and the prince chuckled again.

"One might think you have never ridden a horse before, Léofe."

She scowled, though she knew he could not see it. "I have not ridden for several years, as a fact," she said. "My mother would let me ride the more docile horses as a little girl, but after she died Papa put a stop to it." A silence followed her statement, and she decided that the prince would be now quite aghast. A horse trainer that never rode! She knew the irony in her occupation as well as anyone, but her familiarity with it had long left her with only a mere sense of acceptance. Though she never let go of the hope that one day - when the farm was hers, she could ride at her pleasure.

"How did your mother die?"

The unexpected turn of conversation startled Léofe. "She was thrown from a horse when I was nine years old."

She could almost hear his half-smile. "Then your papa has a very valid reason for disallowing you to ride. Quite within his rights, too."

"Oh, don't you side with him," she muttered. "Next you two will be conspiring to put a stop to my cursing."

Léofe could almost hear his grin; it was so obvious."I rather like that you curse. I am not quite sure I have ever heard a lady curse before; it is actually quite enlivening."

"Well, I am certainly not a lady," Léofe felt obliged to point out. "But as Papa would tell me - _you could be a matchless lady, little goosey_." She felt that her impression of her father's grumbling was uncanny, and obviously the prince agreed, for he laughed behind her.

"Cursing aside, I am quite decided to never take the upper hand with you. I do not have such a constitution that I could bear your insurrection."

She frowned. And their conversation had been going so well! She did not understand these odd comments the prince made, nor his intention behind them. Fortunately, the crest of the hill where just beyond Isenburg stood came into view, and she was spared a response as the trio slowed for a shepherd, who was trying to hurry his sheep across the track.

Isenburg was mercifully yet horrifically empty in the grey dawn, and as the prince helped her to dismount Léofe realized a tactical error that had not been considered. "The markets are not open for buying yet," she hissed at him. "I knew I should have walked!"

He merely met her wrath with a raised eyebrow, and she flushed. To repay the prince for his selfless deed with spite! She suddenly realized that he might succeed where her father failed to scare proper manners into her. "I am sorry," she said, her tone moderated. "I - I should not have -"

He smiled, and she lost what she had been about to say within the sensual curve of his lips. "Think not of it," he said lightly, scratching Thunderbite's neck. "Even the best of us are often beset by grouchiness in the early morn."

Oooo! She could have stuck her tongue out at him, proving to him just how unladylike she was and how much he irritated her, but she suppressed the urge. Grouchy in the morning! It was unlikely that he ever had to rise before dawn to muck out stables; he was hardly one to pass judgment. And she had been perfectly pleasant on the ride. Or at least, she thought she had been.

Léofe perched herself on the steps of the town inn, determinedly ignoring the prince and his guards as they picketed their horses near a water trough. They spoke quietly to each other for a moment, and then the prince and one of the soldiers disappeared into the inn, their heavy boots making the floorboards beneath her shudder.

"Well, lassie," the remaining guard was watching her, and after the door to the inn shut, he sat beside her, taking up the rest of the steps with his incredible bulk. "It is only you and I, now."

She scowled and scooted further away.

"That face of thunder is not going to frighten me away, lass. Théodred gave me strict instruction to keep you safe."

"The prince presumes much," she said, unwillingly drawn into responding.

"He considers the safety of his people most highly."

"Indeed," Léofe said dryly. "Even above their own pride, it would seem. As if a person cannot care for themselves."

A look of astonishment crossed the man's face, and then without warning he burst into bellowing laughter. Affronted, she could only stare at him as he guffawed, and it was upon that scene that the prince returned. Léofe looked at him with incredulousness, willing him to understand her thoughts. _You left me with this buffoon?_

But the prince only smiled, and presented to her a wrapped cloth, and another to the man. "Erkenbrand, would you mind composing yourself? You have given Mistress Léofe quite a fright."

"Apologizes, sire," Erkenbrand said, though his grin was still firmly in place. "And my most sincere apologies to you, mistress."

Léofe sniffed down her nose at him.

"Why do you not enjoy your repast while you do a brief survey?" the prince continued to his man.

"An excellent idea, sire," Erkenbrand stood, brushing off his trousers and walking away, still chuckling.

"I am sorry for him," the prince said, taking the vacated seat. "Erk is overly jolly at times, and usually at the expense of others. His wife has cured him of it in most settings, but away from home he is much worse."

"I see," Léofe said, though she did not. Her attention was focused now on the bread and cheese that the prince had brought her. She almost felt guilty that he obviously considered himself obliged to feed her, but the smell of the freshly baked bread won out. They ate together on silence for several minutes, and when she was unable to endure the awkwardness between the any longer, she blurted, "What is a survey?"

"Erk and Allred have both gone to see that there is no danger in the area. They have actually accompanied me to your farm before, but that you have not seen them is a mark of their skill."

"Do they watch for enemies or do they watch you, to see that the heir does nothing rash?"

"Enemies," the prince said with a smile. "I have not required a sitter for many years, though Erk was up to the task when it was needed."

"Why were you on that road?" Léofe asked. She did not want to imagine the sort of trouble a handsome prince was liable to cause; the images of busty women and barrels of ale disquieted her.

"I wanted to see Brego and put him through his paces."

"Oh!" she sat up straight and reddened slightly. "Then you certainly should not have come with me! You should have continued on!"

"Brego will not be missing me so much, surely," the prince said. "I did not send him a message to alert him for my arrival."

His words were so dry that Léofe nearly missed them, and after a stunned moment she laughed. "I shall hurry my errands. I see that the miller is open now; I shan't be but a moment."

The prince stood as she did, and with a respectful nod while trying to avoid his gaze, she turned away. The miller greeted her jovially, and was pleased to take an order so early in the morning.

"Three barrels of flour, if you please, Eadberht, delivered by the end of the week," she said, pulling a pouch of coins from her vestibule.

"Happy to, Léofe," he mumbled, scratching his belly. "Though I am sorry to say the price of flour has increased. Four silver a barrel."

"Four silver!" she cried, aghast, and she stared at him. "Surely not!"

"Take it up with the economy, not with me," Eadberht said.

" _Two_ barrels then, and delivered whenever you drive our direction," she said hotly, and slammed the coins on his desk.

"I hear Irwin hasn't lowered his prices at all," he said, not meeting her gaze.

"Irwin! I would never buy from him. I have been warned nearly every year of my life that he doesn't sift his grain for maggots," she growled.

"I am sorry, lass."

Léofe stared at him for a moment, and then swiped her coins back into her pouch before storming out of his mill. She was in fact too angry to notice the broad expanse of armor in front of her as she walked along in frustration, and so was knocked backward and her shoulder made contact with the prince's chest. No danger of falling though - he grasped her shoulders quickly, steadying her footing though her heart suddenly quickened.

"Forgive me," he said. "I thought you would see me."

"No matter," she muttered, and twisted away from his grip.

"Is your business complete?"

"No. I am buying elsewhere today." A thought occurred to her, and she whirled around to see the prince following her. "Please do not accompany me to this store, if you please; I cannot afford the prices they charge for nobility. And for some odd reason, you being near me makes me somehow worthy of those prices."

The prince looked startled, and then nodded and took a step back.

"Thank you," she said, surprised at his compliance.

"I shall see you back at the inn."

Irwin was only slightly more helpful than Eadberht, though Irwin's cantankerous mood was regular for him at least. Léofe took the time to sift her hands though the barrels she purchased, looking for the ones with the fewest bugs. Her stomach turned at the sight of the writhing maggots. But she had no choice. Irwin agreed to send a boy with her grain to the farm in four days' time, and she left after paying him exactly what Eadberht should have charged.

Her mood was not improved by this, though she tried to be in good spirits as she walked around the markets to buy lard, wool, currycombs, and lye. The merchants were used to Léofe, and agreed to send the wares with Irwin's boy. She tried not to look over her shoulder towards the inn, where she knew the prince was standing stiffly by the steps and watching her. Why was he doing that, anyway? It seemed perfectly odd behavior for a prince. Her last purchase as a flask of poor quality brandy for her father with the leftover pennies, which she tucked in her basket with her handkerchief. Kicking the dirt road that ran through the town, she walked slowly back to the inn, willing herself not to meet the prince's eyes.

"I am sorry if I have caused you trouble with the merchants," he said abruptly as she approached, and she started.

"It is nothing," she said, though it was a lie. Thinking about the maggots, she shuddered. "I am ready to return now, if you are willing."

"Certainly." He took her basket from her, helping her to dismount Thunderbite before mounting himself, and returning her wares. She settled in, tucking the shawl around her shoulders, trying to disguise her discomposure from being touched so intimately by the prince. She was startled once more as he let out a shrill whistle behind her.

"Bema! Warn me next time," she snapped, turning to glare at him.

He was hiding a smile. "Of course, mistress."

Erkenbrand and Allred came into sight; one from the east and one from the west, greeting the prince with cheerful reports of peace. Finally the trio pressed forward, and Léofe let out a sigh of relief. At least her shopping was done until the spring!

The sun had risen high in the sky now, though the wind remained chilly. Villagers passed the soldiers with wary eyes as they rode, clearly unhappy with a reminder of war in their town, though a few of the younger ladies gave shy smiles. Léofe could only roll her eyes in return. The strains of music began to reach their ears, and when they turned onto the path that led to the farm, they came across an impromptu jig that had manifested in the blacksmith's yard.

"Care to stop?" the prince asked behind her, sounding amused.

"No, thank you, we can continue" she said, fear embroiling her as she recognized several of the revellers. "Please continue, damn it!"

Her words carried across the revelers, and one stocky boy turned and caught sight of her, a grin obstructing his features. "I thought I recognized you! Oi, Léofe, come and have a jig! And afterwards -" He did not continue his sentence, but rather thrusted his scrawny hips in a lewd suggestion.

The attention of some of the other dancers was now fixed on her, and Léofe flushed a deep red, both for the boy's words and that the prince had witnessed it. He seemed to have stiffened behind her, and she did not doubt for a moment that any respect the prince may have had for her was now utterly gone.

"Shove off, Erik!" she snapped. "Just because you can only convince a maid to bed you with coin does not mean you got to sully the names of us intelligent ones!"

"'S not true," Erik said, though his face was turning puce. "I could bed any maid I wanted!"

"Then why haven't you? Prefer the maids with danglers?"

The musicians - a harpist and flautist - now stopped playing, and those that remained dancing stumbled to a halt. "At least I'm not a gutter snipe!" Erik hollered in the newly descended silence, spit flying from his mouth. "Or a half-coin whore!"

Anger blinded her, and with a snarl Léofe swung her leg over the horse's back, fully intending to pound Erik's face in. But strong arms held her in place, and she looked into the prince's face. He was as incensed as she, but he at least was wearing a carefully controlled mask.

"As much as I would enjoy the sight of you pummelling that rat," he said quietly to her, "such action might be ill-advised. Erk?"

"Right behind ye, sire," Erkenbrand was flexing his bare arms in the direction of the boy. Erik, now noticing that his victim had three very large men ready to defend her, took a stumbling step backwards before falling on his rump, looking terrified. Allred was fingering the sword at his waist, with a manic glint in his eye.

"I believe the lady recommended that you - what was the term? Shove off," the prince said, his voice carrying. The attention turned to him, and whispers shuffled through the crowd - _prince, prince, prince_. And Léofe had thought that she could not blush any deeper. Evidently she was wrong. Her discomfort must have been palpable, for immediately the prince's gloved hand gently pressed into her stiff spine, and surprised, she relaxed under his touch. Why was he doing such a thing, anyway?

"As you were," the prince said to the group, and after a moment of high tension, the musicians began playing once more. Once the dancers began again, and the people hovering around the soldiers dissipated, the prince leaned in close. "Are you quite sure you do not care to dance, mistress? We could cause quite a scandal, you and I."

The temptation of dancing with the prince, and of being able to touch him nearly overrode Léofe's own sense. "I am sure," she said.

The rest of the ride was uneventful, and it was with a sigh of relief that she dismounted Thunderbite and retreated into the house after thanking the prince profusely and, she hoped - adequately enough that he would not bother her again.


	5. Chapter 5

Léofe was not entirely sure that she had any nerves left at all. Everything in her that kept her sane - her nerves, her quick wit, her experience - had taken leave of her completely as soon as the prince wrapped his arms around her.

"It is a simple motion," he was saying, though she was only half listening. The warm breath on her ear was far more interesting.

"Is it," she murmured.

"Yes. Pull the cord back so that you are nearly touching your ear - steady on! Keep the handle from moving; your shot will be more accurate that way."

Léofe obediently pulled back the rubber, aiming the stone towards where the prince had directed her.

"Let go!"

She started at his suddenly loud voice and dropped the rubber. The stone skittered across the grass only a few yards in front of them, and she blushed. How embarrassing! The action had caused some interest for Brego, who trotted over from the feed trough and sniffed the stone with a suitable measure of disdain.

"Bad luck," Léofe said quickly. "I will be sure to practice more."

"Good! I am gratified to hear that you are so devoted to learning the art of the slingshot." the prince's white teeth shone in a wide smile, and she blushed again. He was standing awfully still, Léofe thought, with his eyes fastened on her. Probably she was imagining the tenderness in his eyes. Her mind had been taking some audacious liberties since the prince had rode in only a quarter-hour earlier.

"Anyway," she said. "Should your men not have returned from their patrol by now? We need to begin shortly if you are to depart by sundown."

The prince seemed to jolt from a stupor. "Yes, they should," he said, voice stern. "I will search them out presently."

It was to be the day that Brego began his war training. It would require all hands available - the prince and Léofe had already discussed this, both being experienced with such a task. Gerdhelm was already heaving pots and pans from their kitchen, for himself and Léofe to make plenty of noise, and Erkenbrand and Allred would be taking a break from their regular patrolling to act as attackers. The prince had only had a few token rides with Brego, and today was to be the real test. Either Brego would take to the commotion, keeping his head and obeying his master, or he would act out insanely and the prince would have to find a new horse. But that was so unlikely it was hardly worth considering.

Léofe knew that Brego was going to make a wonderful war stallion. Horses had personalities, and one who had lived around them could always know which horse was best suited for which lifestyle. For all of Brego's lazy affection for both her and the prince, fire ran in his blood.

War training was a dangerous game, not least of all for Erkenbrand and Allred, who would be closest to Brego's hooves as they alternated between riding and attacking on foot. Léofe had never trained in that manner before, and as her mother had died and her father been lamed under horses' hooves, she felt rather apprehensive. What if the prince was thrown? A lump lodged itself in her throat, and to calm herself she scratched Brego's neck as they waited for the prince and his men to return.

A heavy, gilded saddle was thrown over Brego's back, startling Léofe into taking a step back. The prince grinned at her from the other side of the stallion. "You are spoiling him," he said.

"Yes, I am. If this is to go disastrously, I would prefer that he have a recent and happy memory to recall."

"There will be no disaster," the prince told her. "Erk, Al and I have done this several times before. And I know you have the sense to get yourself gone if Brego charges you."

"Of course," she snapped. "But there is always an off chance that something horrific might happen."

The prince had come around to her side of Brego, tightening straps. He paused in his work, and reached out to gently lift Léofe's chin. "Worry not, my dear," he said quietly. "I will keep you safe."

 _I do not worry for myself! I worry for you!_ she wanted to shout. But she could not - the lump in her throat had swollen at his words. His dear? He considered her to be dear? She followed the prince and Brego into the corral, taking her place on the fence with her bells and pans in a haze. _My dear_ , he had said. Perhaps he harbored affection towards her!

 _That would be impossible_ , Léofe told herself bitterly, watching uneasily as Erkenbrand toted a long oaken staff towards where Brego was waiting with the prince on his back. The prince could never love her.

"Half-penny that Erkenbrand gets kicked in the chest."

Léofe turned to see Allred's smiling face. "I will take it," she said, grinning back. "And another half that Brego will falter when I call for him."

"Deal!"

Already Erkenbrand was trying to push Brego to the left, while the prince was commanding him to go right. The stallion was snorting and prancing backwards, giving the prince a difficult seat. The sun had disappeared behind a blanket of clouds, and to her apprehension a trickle of rain began to fall. Bema! What luck.

It would be a long two days.

.

.

"And that was when she threw dung in my face!"

Gerdhelm's loud bellowing laugh at his own story was matched only by Erkenbrand's gusty tones. Allred and the prince laughed far more politely, and Léofe merely sat without saying a word. She had begged stories about her dead mama from her father often before - especially when she was younger, but listening to Gerdhelm's garbled account of their courtship now only made her melancholy.

They all sat around an open fire, enjoying a meal of hearty oatmeal hot cakes and cured sausage. The training had gone well (in Léofe's opinion, which she considered highly), but the hours of shouting and running had made them ravenous.

"Obviously she did not think so ill of you," the prince's mild tone brought Léofe back to the conversation. How was it she had developed such an ear for his voice? It seemed entirely implausible to _her_ , though she had such little experience in matters of the heart. It was all so odd.

"It was the final time that she resisted my suit," Gerdelm said with a smile. "We married only about a month later. And Léofe was born the next spring."

Four grinning faces turned to her, and Léofe blushed in the attention. "It is not so unusual," she said haughtily. "And I do not see why you should leer at _me_ , it is not as if I had any say in the matter."

Gerdhelm rolled his eyes as Erkenbrand guffawed again. The prince smiling benignly at her, and she groaned inwardly as she realized what she had said. If he had admired her before, her tasteless commentary was certainly not helping her cause.

"I would not dare leer at such an expert gambler," Allred cut in with a smile. "I shall beware placing bets with this miss in the future!"

Her papa sent her a questioning look, and Léofe quickly turned her gaze from him. He had forbidden her from gambling years ago after she had embarrassed her uncle at a Midsummer's celebration.

"Perhaps your loss was your own fault," the prince said lazily. "You should know not to bet against a woman when her horse is the subject matter."

At this Erkenbrand laughed even louder, and the tension disappeared as Gerdhelm stood to take empty plates. Léofe stood as well, taking over for her father so that he would not have to walk back to the house. "Thank you, goosey," he murmured to her after passing over the dinnerware, and he sat back down heavily. The training was wearing him out, she thought suddenly. Her papa was not used to using his bad leg so much, and she decided to speak to him about sitting out tomorrow.

"Léofe!"

She turned back to the fire. "You might find your bed now. Dawn comes early," Gerdhelm said, pulling out his pipe.

"Yes, Papa."

Their voices faded into the distance as she walked slowly back to the house. Sent to bed like a child! She blushed to imagine what the prince might think of her now. That she was far too young for his interests, she supposed. Though there was a certain amount of truth to that, she thought dully. She did not know exactly how old the prince was, but he did have wrinkles around his eyes.

Her infatuation with him was becoming hard to bear, she decided as she slipped into bed after cleaning the dishes. It was high time that she forgot him, like the childish obsession it was.

.

.

Léofe was awake with the dawn, and dressed hurriedly to get to the yard as soon as possible. From the way the men had been talking about their intentions the night before, they would have been up and about for hours already.

But the three snoozing forms in the great room, compounded by the snoring from her father's curtained bed, proved her wrong. She pursed her lips in annoyance, and searched out old bread from the crock before creeping out the front door to tend to her chores. Still, she could not help but wonder which of the forms had been her prince, and whether he snored. This was likely her only chance to find out. But she curbed her impulse and drew up water from the well with a frustration that fuelled her strength.

The sun had risen and was already warm when she finished with her chores, and the late sleepers finally left the house. Léofe paused in watering their sparse garden, and watched as the prince and Erkenbrand shared a joke. Her heart seemed to tug her in his direction, and she firmly squashed her thoughts.

"Time to go, goosey," Gerdhelm had followed the men out. "We have a hard day ahead of us."

Léofe acquiesced, climbing the steps and handing the pail of water towards him. "Stay behind today, Papa, I beg of you. No stallion is worth your health. I shall take your place today."

Her papa seemed to hesitate for only a moment before he accepted the pail. "Thank you," he said gruffly. "I appreciate your hard work, Léofe. You have lifted many a burden from my shoulders."

Startled that he called her by her name, Léofe felt a rush of emotion and leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek. "Do not be late with luncheon!" she teased, and ran to the stables to fetch the bells.

Brego was learning fast, and already could stand his ground against the twin attacks of Erkenbrand and Allred. He was also quite adept at following the prince's orders, which saved the attackers' necks as the fire of fighting began to take hold of Brego. Léofe watched her dear stallion fondly, hoping with all her heart that he would still love her even after the war training. She sighed, and lifted her fingers to her lips and whistled loudly.

Just as she expected, Brego snorted and shifted in her direction, resisting when the prince pulled him in the opposite direction. Léofe allowed her a small smile, and called out his name. Brego became more agitated, and when she whistled again he reared. She was surprised to see the prince glaring at her once he regained control. What wrong had she committed? He had asked her to help with the training, after all, and if Brego could not obey his master's command over her own, he was hardly fit for war. Though it did give Léofe a small sense of satisfaction. The prince spurred Brego, and he trotted over to her, and Léofe reached out her hand to scratch Brego's nose as they stopped at the fence where she was sitting.

"Badly done," the prince said, his eyes dark as he looked down at her. "Very badly done."

Her face heated. "My sincerest pardon," she replied, her chin held high and disdain dripping into every word. "I was under the obviously mistaken impression that I was here to - what were your words? To make noise as to acquaint Brego with the clamor of battle."

His nostrils flared ever so slightly, and Léofe looked coolly back at him. "You are in the right," the prince finally said. "I apologize for losing my temper."

She could have laughed. _That_ was losing his temper?

"I am afraid my anger is because you startled me as well as Brego. I did not expect you to whistle so...shrilly."

"Next time I shall be gentle as a spring rain," she said. "But it seems to me - although I have no expertise in this area - that you might need to work with Brego a bit more, sire." The prince was amused by her winning smile, and nodded to her before turning Brego back into the middle of the corral.

 _Badly done indeed_ , Léofe thought to herself crossly. For all her promises of reform, her heart still beat out of control whenever the prince looked at her.

He paused, and then turned to face her once more. "Would it be too much, Léofe, if I asked you to call me by my given name? So few people do, it would be, I think - a mark of the friendship we share regarding Brego."

Regarding Brego. Of course, that was all their friendship was. "Very well," she said. "It seems that you are taking liberties with my name already. It seems to fit to return the favor." But even her comment lacked its usual verve. Why must it hurt so?

He was smiling widely at her. "Whistle as shrilly as you would like, Léofe. After all, we are here for Brego's sake."

"For Brego's sake. I shall do as you wish...Théodred."


	6. Chapter 6

It was a grey, drizzly spring morning that Théodred arrived to take Brego away. Léofe was glad for the rain, for it disguised her falling tears as she embraced her closest friend - the best horse that she had ever raised, and gave him a last scratch behind the ears. 

 

“Do as the prince says,” she whispered to him. “And if you care to - come back to me.”

 

Unbeknownst to her, Théodred was watching her closely, with a rather unfamiliar sense of regret. He told himself that there was nothing for it, really, as he had bought Brego quite fairly and that Léofe should be accustomed to saying farewell to her charges by this time. But the grief on her face turned his stomach. Brego was not taking her anxiety well; he was shifting his weight back and forth, and Théodred’s hold on his reins became tenuous. 

 

“I will bring him to visit, if you consent,” he said.  _ But what comfort would that be? _ he thought in despair. The girl was losing a friend, and he could offer her nothing but to see Brego in the future, to open old wounds and to cause fresh pain. 

 

“I would like that,” Léofe replied, and she seemed almost shy. 

 

He mounted briskly, nodding at Gerdhelm, who stood slightly apart, and at Léofe who finally left Brego’s side. “You raise fine horses.” Likely that was cold comfort as well. Berating himself for his sensitivity and his awkwardness, Théodred turned Brego away, Erk and Allred falling in behind.

 

There was silence, and he was left alone with his thoughts. His remorse increased steadily, until a foul mood took hold of him entirely and he scowled at the grass that pounded underneath Brego’s lively hooves. Why was he was so responsive to Léofe’s own feelings? She was little more than a girl. No, she was certainly a woman. Her clothing was often too small and threadbare; he was left with no doubt of her attributes. And she was far more than an ordinary woman as well, he thought. She was ferocious, and timid, quick-witted, and faltering, rather pretty, and often smelling of manure and covered in dirt. If she was truly an ordinary woman, he would not have been consumed with thoughts of her for the past several miles, and Théodred’s frown deepened. He had to banish her from his mind. He had to! There was simply too many other things to worry about, and reminding himself of his cousin’s impending visit, spurred Brego faster towards home.

 

.

 

.

 

Éomer ran his hands critically over Brego’s muscles, searching for faults or weak tendons. “There must be something,” he muttered under his breath. 

 

“There is nothing wrong with Brego,” Théodred responded in an amused voice, watching over his ministrations with his arms folded. “He is the best trained stallion I have ever ridden.”

 

“He might be well trained, but I am sure he has a fault somewhere.”

 

“I have never found one, and nor has his breeder. You might as well give up now, and we can depart all the sooner.”

 

Éomer grumbled, and Théodred counted it a victory. The younger man bent over the stall wall, frowning at Firefoot dozing with his nose in the feedbox. “Wake up, you lazy slob!” he said. “We’re going for a ride.”

 

It was fortunate that Théodred had taken pains to put Brego out with the mares  that morning, for while Firefoot was more agitated to have so many females nearby, Brego allowed himself to be led docilely from his stall, and did not give Firefoot a second thought. Luck was with them.

 

The pair rode out into the grey afternoon, the clanks from the horses’ hooves on the causeway echoing thinly. They had already agreed to forgo guards, for it was safe enough near the Deep. They did not want to risk any soldiers that might be spies for the enemy. Théodred’s most trusted men were happy seeing their wives again for the first time in a fortnight, (Erkenbrand especially), and he did not want to bother them. Once they were far enough away from the stone fort to avoid their voices from echoing, Éomer stood in his stirrups and let out a whoop. 

 

“I have not felt this free for months,” he said, laughing. “I have discovered no less than three spies in my eored, and when I am summoned to Edoras there are always two on my trail. This is glorious, cousin.”

 

“There are about six in the deep,” Théodred said, relaxing his own shoulders. “And I wish I still had the authority to remove them. Grima has been nothing if not clever.”

 

“He is sure to have a weakness somewhere. He is no specimen as faultless as Brego.”

 

“Nor is he a stallion,” Théodred said before he could stop himself. “Perhaps a castrated nag.” There was only a small moment of silence before they both broke out into chuckles. 

 

“Have you seen Greyhame?” Éomer asked, changing the subject abruptly. 

 

“No. I only met him once, as you well know.”

 

“I was hoping you might have more news, or more hope.”

 

Théodred felt a frown crease his forehead. “I have the same amount of hope I have always had.”

 

“Pull yourself from the gutters! Let’s have a race!” Éomer had only to nudge Firefoot once before the stallion took off like an arrow with his rider. Théodred laughed, as Brego ran after them without waiting for a command. Breathless, they stopped in a small river cove at the foot of the mountains. The horses drank eagerly while Éomer and Théodred washed their faces.  “So,” Éomer said as they settled down with a wineskin. “Tell me of your adventures.”

 

There was little enough to tell, but Théodred obliged with news of orc movements and what exactly the spies were likely to pass on to Grima. “Two villages have been completely razed,” he said grimly. “Thankfully they were small, and the survivors easily relocated. I fear for those whose own black horses, frankly; for those are the ones that Saruman targets.”

 

“I did not realize the wizard enjoyed riding so,” Éomer said.

 

“I do not think he does,” Théodred answered. “But rather, he has a twisted use for them.” 

 

“You ought to warn the local breeders.”

 

Théodred sighed. “I would, if I had any trust in their sense. But the people of the Westfold are exceptionally stubborn.”

 

“Perhaps you are not using your privilege enough,” his cousin grinned at him. “Order them about! You certainly have enough practice, what with Eowyn and I.”

 

Théodred nearly laughed. “If you had been in my position, you would have acted the same. When you two devils came to Meduseld, the entire hierarchy of the Riddermark nearly fell around your ears!”

 

“I do not believe it! We were angels, I am sure. Eowyn remains so.”

 

“That is something which  _ I _ do not believe,” Théodred said, tossing the empty wineskin at Éomer, who let it fall to the ground. “She is a menace. Father used to complain about her tempers, until he…” His voice trailed off, and Éomer’s smile faltered. “Anyway,” he continued abruptly. “I am thankful that she lives in Edoras rather than Helm’s Deep.”

 

“Aunt Alfrida would straighten her out quick. Perhaps I will send her your way,” Éomer’s lazy grin was back in place. 

 

“No!”

 

The cheerful turn of their conversation made the sun seem brighter, and the birds’ trills more melodious. Too rarely had the cousins had such a chance to relax, especially together - and this was a moment to be treasured. Théodred felt a strange ache somewhere in his chest, and for an odd reason Léofe’s freckled face came to his memory. “What will you do after the war, when our land is safe once more?” he asked, rummaging through the stones that littered the riverbank. 

 

“Sleep! Eat aught besides waybread and goat jerky. Perhaps I will learn to mix paints.”

 

“You misunderstood me.” Théodred said, tossing a smooth rock into the water with a  _ plunk _ . “What exactly will you do with your life once you are no longer committed to ridding the country of orcs?”

 

Éomer’s mouth was drawn in a thin line. “You speak optimistically, cousin.”

 

“I speak in the same manner Greyhame spoke to me,” Théodred said. “I wish to know your thoughts.”

 

“I find that when I consider the course of my future, I am often quickly reminded of the current horror of my life,” Éomer said. 

 

“Tell me know; we are safe enough.”

 

Éomer gave a heavy sigh. “I wish to marry, Théodred. I wish for a wife to share my life and love, and with whom we might have ten children and a home full of fillies and colts.”

 

Théodred smiled at this image. “In other words, you wish to set up as a horse breeder?”

 

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” Éomer said, leaning back against a tree and lacing his fingers behind his head. “I would be content as a farmer if it meant that I could have familial happiness.”

 

“A fair compromise,” Théodred agreed. “But would you remain your title?”

 

“In all likelihood, yes,” Éomer said. “But I do not wish it. I have been embroiled in these raids and scrapes for too long. I would willingly pass the title to one younger, and with more energy.”

 

Théodred raised his eyebrows. “I would never have thought you would tire of war, Éomer! It was always your fondest dream to do as your father did.”

 

“That dream has been fulfilled,” Éomer said quietly. “Now I wish for my mother’s dream as well; a simple home and peaceful life. Now I beg to keep the remainder of my secrets. What will you do?” 

 

Again, Théodred was overwhelmed with thoughts of Léofe. Éomer’s description of a home and children was awfully tempting; thinking of the homeliness of Gerdhelm’s farm only made his heart hurt worse. “I shall be king someday, I suppose,” he said. “I will remain marshal until Father passes, and I will take his place.”

 

“That seems a dull life indeed,” Éomer said, grinning. “Do you wish for nothing else?” 

 

Théodred shrugged. “When I consider it, I distract myself from what takes precedence right now. Though…”

 

Éomer straightened up, fixing Théodred with a curious glance. “Do finish that thought, cousin. Unless you are deliberately keeping a secret?” 

 

“No!” Théodred scowled, though a hot itch grew on his neck. Éomer was still looking at him expectantly, and feeling a surge of desire to confide, he relented. “There is a woman - a girl, really. But I cannot stop thinking of her!” 

 

“That is love, I am sure!” Éomer said, chuckling. “And now you must tell me who she is.” 

 

“Very well. She comes from a family of horse breeders near Isenburg. Er..she is rather short I suppose. I am quite poor at describing women, I think,” he said ruefully. “Her hair is the color of a peach; she is freckled everywhere from what I  have seen- ”

 

“And how much have you seen, exactly?”

 

“Not that much, dolt!” Théodred snapped. “This is  _ my _ woman you are speaking about, and grown or not - I can still whip you!” 

 

Rather than frightening Éomer into a more deferring mood, his words had rather the opposite effect - and Éomer began to laugh. “ _ Your _ woman, Théodred?”

 

He grimaced at his own blunder. “I did not mean - ”

 

“I am sure you did not. But truth must prevail, as my mother used to say. Even when one tries to hide it.”

 

“Aunt Theodwyn could have hid her wisdom a bit more, I think,” Théodred said. “But we digress.”

 

“Quite correct; we were speaking of  _ your _ woman. What is she called?” 

 

“Her name is Léofe,” Théodred said, and when he spoke it he felt a warm glow in his chest, though tempered at once by a longing and a sadness. “And I do not quite think - that is, I feel as though I am living - well, it is not right. Any time which Léofe and I might have together would be borrowed. It would have been simpler if we had not met until everything was right once more. My father, Saruman, the orcs - everything. If there is even the slightest hope of victory!”

 

“Uncle will be well again,” Éomer said quietly. “I believe it; you must too.”

 

“Yes, yes,” Théodred said. He was feeling cross from both the teasing and the dark mood which always threatened when he thought of his father. “You must tell no one, cousin. If Grima comes to know of her and seeks her life, I shall willingly pay the price for treason after I smite off his head!” 

 

“If you often speak of her in such a manner, you will have revealed the secret yourself,” Éomer laughed. “But I sweat to tell no one, apart from Eowyn. It will give her something to hold over your head, which you certainly need. Or is Aunt Alfrida aware?” 

 

“I have told her nothing. If she has caught wind of the situation, it is Erkenbrand’s doing. He and Allred are the only men in the Deep who have met her, which I arranged purposefully. They are adept at keeping mum.”

 

“My, my,” Éomer said, sticking a blade of grass between his lips. “You have become over-protective, secretive, and irritable. It certainly seems like love to me!”

 

“It is not love,” Théodred protested, though it felt like a rather patent denial. “I do admire her; I am attracted to her and I miss her terribly, but love? I should think it would take more than a few hours’ of conversation combined to grow such affection.”

 

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” Éomer said. “But either way, I think I know exactly what will be keeping you awake for the next several nights. Now let us discuss what is truly important: Brego is a fine, showy horse - ” At this he nodded to where the bay was ruffling his nose through a patch of grass. “But he is no match for Firefoot!” 

 

The ensuing scuffle was reminiscent of their younger days, and it did much for each to forget their own troubles. And in the race to the Hornburg, Théodred was quite pleased to win. The only shadow was Léofe’s face; for when he rubbed down Brego that evening he could only think of how many times she must have done that same thing herself, probably singing as she tried to keep her beautiful hair from falling in her face and Brego from eating it. 

 

Everything had a rather bitter taste after that. 


	7. Chapter 7

Léofe splashed water over her neck and arms, cleaning herself of blood and other fluids from the birth that she had just attended. Gerdhelm was now helping the new filly to suckle, and Léofe enjoyed the fresh air; a welcome change from the hot and smelly stables. She was picking the crud from under her fingernails when a distant whinny caught her attention.

 

She could see the prince - Théodred, he had asked her to call him - Théodred’s mop of hair above the grassy knolls before the rest of him came into sight. And better yet than Théodred (who still made her heart beat faster), was the sight of Brego’s proud neck and he trotted in her direction. It took an incredible amount of control for her not to rush the pair, and Théodred alighted before her while she dried her hands on her dress. 

 

“I thought you might be missing your friend,” he said without preamble, patting Brego’s neck. The stallion had seen her, and was fidgeting between his own instinct and his master’s command. Keeping his eyes fixed on Léofe, Théodred said to Brego in a low voice and with a wry smile, “Go to her.”

 

Brego obliged, nuzzling her under her chin as she wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed with all her might. He had grown! Not so much in size as ego, she thought. Though his manners had improved somewhat as well, for at the prince’s  murmured command, he stood still to allow her to stroke him with affection. The hair-eating had apparently been disposed of. “Did you miss me?” she whispered, pulling away slightly to look into his eyes. “Because I have missed you greatly. There has been no other horse as wonderful as you. Oh, Brego!” 

 

The prince coughed beside her, and seeing his amused look, Léofe blushed. “Thank you for coming,” she said, remembering to be correct in her manners.

 

“Oh, not at all.”

 

Another squeeze, and she released her hold on the stallion. 

 

“He needs to be walked,” Théodred said. “Would you join us?” Startled by his generous offer and rather discomfited that the prince was inviting her company, Léofe nodded in agreement, and the trio set off together through the ripened grass, heading east away from the house. His words had long since faded between them, and only the swishing of the grass and stamps of Brego’s steps could be heard. She was considering whether to suggest turning for home when the prince spoke again. “Brego is not the sole reason I have attended to you today.”

 

Her brows drew together in baffled suspicion. “Surely you did not come for our, er - bounteous table?”

 

A short laugh broke from his lips. “No, Léofe.” That devastating half-smile of his remained on his face, and she looked away quickly before she was affected further. He was not offering any further explanation, and her discomfort grew.

 

“Now that I am sufficiently dying of curiosity,” she said. “Why did you come?”

 

Théodred’s mouth compressed, his hands clenching together as he held them behind his back. “War is coming, Léofe.”

 

She could have rolled her eyes. but refrained. Surely she had enough bad qualities in Théodred’s eyes. “That is not exactly a secret, is it?”

 

“I wish for you and your father to transfer your farm to another - safer- part of the Riddermark. I would suggest somewhere nearer to Helm’s Deep, where you will be better protected while still having the perfect setting to raise your horses.”

 

Léofe’s mouth dropped open. “Transfer? You wish us to leave?”

 

“I wish you to be safe,” An ironic glint hardened his eyes. “I would hate to lose such an experienced horse trainer.”

 

“Ah, yes,” she said, feeling dull. “We are an economic necessity. It would be most unfortunate if your family could not take our horses and gallop away.”

 

“Léofe,” Théodred said, his voice holding a warning tone. “That is largely unfair. I paid for Brego, and I bullied my cousin into paying for hers as well. And further, I wrote to my father quite some time ago that he abolish the law stating that any member of the king’s family has a right to take any horse they wish. I understand that you may not have been aware of this, but I would appreciate not being made into an enemy.”

 

Her face flushed pink, and resentment crowded her senses.  _ Insufferable prince! _ But it was awfully rude of her to consider him insufferable for being so kind, and at such an inconvenience. 

 

Théodred was still speaking. “The reason I ask that you leave this area is that the threat of orcs is increasing monthly. I have already spoken to the other villages and asked them to leave, though it seems that they would rather die in their own homes than keep their lives. I wish for you not to have that same foolishness.”

 

“It is not foolish to want to keep our livelihoods,” Léofe said. “My father will never leave.” Théodred said nothing to this, and they continued walking in silence through the grass,  the sun striking brilliant light across their path. She came to a decision. “I will speak to my father of the matter, and tell him of your counsel,” she said. “But I will abide by his decision, whatever it may be.”

 

“A fair judgement.”

 

A quiet tenderness was filling her breast at Théodred’s attentiveness and concern. She pushed it down hurriedly, unwilling to face her own feelings.  _ Why would a prince think of me?  _ “Are there any happenings of note in Helm’s Deep?” she asked to put him from her mind. “You mentioned a cousin. I should like to hear about her.” The worry was drawn from his face with a brilliant smile, and Léofe struggled to keep from gaping. He was so bloody handsome! 

 

“Them, actually. Éomer is the elder; he and I share many qualities. Though I was raised as a prince for all my life, and him for only part of his. He is less disciplined than I, though a more natural fighter. I must warn you never to be deceived by his brawn if you were ever to meet him - he has one of the most tender hearts I have come across. My father has always been driven mad by Éomer’s overuse of paper - he enjoys to draw, as strange as it might seem.”

 

“I see,” Léofe said slowly. “Cousin Éomer; a frightful warrior and romantic soul. Not baffling, not at all.”

 

“It certainly baffles me. I imagine the woman he marries one day will be very special indeed.”

 

“And your female cousin?”

 

“Éowyn? A shieldmaiden, and I am very sorry to say it. She is a natural tactical mind and on more than one occasion I have found myself beaten by her. Avoid playing chess with her at all costs, Léofe. She has not lost a match in probably eight years. Her new horse, which I mentioned, is the grumpiest nag I have ever had the displeasure to come across.”

 

Léofe laughed then. “I highly doubt I shall ever be privileged to meet the lady Éowyn.”

 

“Do not be so quick to shed the thought from your mind!” Théodred suddenly seemed agitated, and he squared his shoulders. “I mean to say - you are young yet, there are many years left in your life to do as you please. There is a great horse trading festival in Edoras in springtime. You would enjoy it, I think, and your father’s farm would benefit greatly. I do not lie when I say that your horses are the diamond of the Westfold.”

 

“Well,” she said, turning her face to hide a blush. “That is a very pretty compliment.”

 

“Not exactly a compliment. More a statement of fact.”

 

They had arrived at a old circle of barrows, a rather mysterious place where Léofe had played often as a child. She had always imagined them being the burial spots of long-dead kings of a forgotten kingdom, though her father had laughed at the idea and told her that his grandfather used them to store winter supplies. Being summer, they were covered in cheery green grass, and the dandelions that decorated them were fluffy and white. Brego immediately set to work relieving the barrows of the weeds, and Théodred took the opportunity to pat his neck affectionately. “Would you care for a rest, Léofe? Brego seems inclined to one.”

 

She sat down heavily at the top of the mound, tucking her feet under her and flicking a tick from one of the tall grasses. To her surprise, Théodred took a place beside her, lying on his side and looking far more relaxed than she had ever seen. The thought made her heart beat fast, and she keep her eyes down. “Are...er, your men around?” she asked.

 

“I am sure of it. They are supposed to keep out of sight, though if you wish to keep their company I can summon them.”

 

“Oh, no,” she said quickly. “I was only wondering. And I do find it curious that Erkenbrand scouts so often. To me he seems so large and boisterous that he would give up his position straightaway.”

 

A soft chuckle escaped Théodred’s lips, and he cast her an amused look. “Your assessment is fairer than you know. I bring him here because he is trustworthy, not for his stealth. Were this area more dangerous, I would choose another.”

 

“I see,” she said, running her fingers through the lush foliage. “I - I could not imagine being followed. It must trouble you.”

 

Théodred was studying a dandelion in his hand. “It does not any longer,” he said quietly. “It used to. I suppose having one’s uncle by marriage as one’s guard does help in that endeavor.” He looked up to her gaping mouth, and his lips turned into a half-smile. “Have I not mentioned it? Erkenbrand is married to my aunt.”

 

“Of course I did not know,” Léofe said. 

 

“Well, it is the truth. They married - oh, twenty years ago or so. I was only nineteen years old at the time.”

 

“Do they have any children that I ought to know about? For future reference, I mean.”

 

“No,” he said, and his brows creased. “They have no children.”

 

A burning sense of embarrassment had her flushing red. How much more tactless could she be? It would be terrible to have no children after so many years of marriage, and she was speaking of the entire matter so lightly. A prince would never love a girl so...thoughtless. 

 

“I ought to return,” Théodred said abruptly, and he stood, brushing off his trousers. He held out a hand to help her to her feet, and after a brief, stunning moment of weightlessness, Léofe found her nose only a scant few inches from his broad chest. He was looking down at her, looking rather serious. His loose hair was casting a shadow across his face, and a thrill of a peculiar sort nearly had her knees shaking. He was still holding her hand, and the warm, enfolding sensation made her feel safe, for all its strangeness. 

 

“I should return as well,” she said, wishing the barrow might open up and swallow her whole. Likely her face was a ruddy as a patch of poppies by now. Théodred nodded, dropping her hand but otherwise staying where he was. She immediately wrung her dirty apron together, wanting to both forget and remember the sensation at once. 

 

“Brego and I will visit again soon,” he said. “Keep yourself safe.”

 

She stayed on the mound even after he took his leave, watching from the opportune vantage point Théodred’s straight back as he and Brego turned west to be joined by Erkenbrand and Allred. Soon they were lost in the grass, and Léofe collapsed, holding her hands over her face and wishing that life had dealt her a different lot. To love a prince! And she a simpering, penniless youth. What had she done to deserve such a curse? 

 

The sun began to set as she sat there, turning the grass gold and the sky pink. The soft whisper of grass no longer comforted her, and she wiped her eyes before standing. Likely her father was wondering where she had gone. Had he not seen Théodred? Probably not - and for that, Gerdhelm was probably quite worried. She started down the barrow, when the clinking of metal and the sound of hoofbeats reached her ears. She looked up - was Théodred returned? - her heart skipped a beat, and nearly as quickly - she frowned in disappointment. The rider that came into view from the south was certainly not Théodred. 

 

He caught sight of her, and turned his plodding horse in her direction. Léofe stayed where she was, distrusting the ragged sight of the man and of the horse’s trembling legs. The man was dark-haired and his tunic was decorated with a silver tree. He inclined his head in her direction, and then spoke. “I must buy a fresh mount at once. Is there any place hereabouts I might do so?”

 

His Rohirric was accented, but his grammar was sound. For that, she could forgive him. “My father sells horses,” she said, and pointed back towards the farm. “That way.”

 

.

 

.

 

Léofe pushed through the stable door, directing the man to leave his horse in an empty stall. He did as she directed after relieving his mount of his saddle, and then followed her through the stables. “How far are you going?” she asked over her shoulder.

 

“Very far. I need an exceptionally hardy mount. Food will likely be in short supply, and time presses me.”

 

“I see,” she said. “But that is hardly an ideal situation for a horse. I am loath to send one to its death.”

 

The man’s face tightened considerably. “Please, I beg of you. My Hildarin has suffered enough.”

 

Far be it for her to send away a paying customer. Léofe stopped outside a stall and snapped her fingers, the bay stallion in residence peeking out his nose. “This is Swiftfoot. He will carry you many miles with few problems. He is as hardy as they come, and young to boot.”

 

“Good, good,” the man said, running a hand along the horse’s nose. “I will take him. Might I also purchase some food?”

 

“We do not have much, but you are welcome to it,” she said, unlatching the stall for Swiftfoot to meander out, still curiously eyeing his new master. 

 

“I meant to stop in Edoras for a horse and supplies,” the man explained as the trio left the stables. “But I was warned by a marshal that I ought not to. He said that this area near the river Isen has many breeders.”

 

Gerdhelm was smoking on the front steps, and when he saw their guest stood quickly, unbalancing himself before Léofe hurried forward to catch his arm. “Welcome, my lord,” he said. “Is there anything else we can supply you with?”

 

“Your - er, daughter said that I might be able to purchase food.”

 

“Indeed. Run inside and fill a sack, goosey.”

 

Léofe was already on her way, leaving the men to discuss Swiftfoot’s price. She wrapped a loaf of bread in a linen sack, and to it added parcels of dried fruit as well as several fresh carrots. That should keep the horse energized for some time, she thought, and returned outside. The sun had disappeared from the horizon, the landscape now only lit by its hazy afterglow. 

 

“Thank you, mistress,” the man said, accepting the sack. “And thank you, master Gerdhelm. I shall be on my way.”

 

“If you are in need of rest, you are welcome to spend the night,” Gerdhelm said. “There will be no moon tonight, if you are intent on pressing forward.”

 

The man paused as he slung the saddle over Swiftfoot’s back. “No. I must continue.”

 

Léofe could not help but stare at his back as he galloped away. “That was rather odd,” she said. 

 

“Perhaps. But I can forgive him that,” Gerdelm said. “For he payed us triple Swiftfoot’s cost.”

 

“Triple!”

 

“He was evidently in quite the rush.”

 

“But triple,” she murmured. “Now I feel as if I should have given him more food.”

 

Gerdhelm lumbered through the door, tossing his pipe on the table. “Before you go to your chores, goosey,” he said as she started to turn away. “You were missed this afternoon.”

 

Oh, that their mysterious customer had distracted her father only a bit longer! “I am sorry, Papa,” she said, trying to sidle away from his suspicious stare. “I - I went for a walk and I was distracted.”

 

“Distracted!” Gerdhelm harrumphed, pulling out a chair to sit and stretch out his bad leg. “The prince’s eyes are probably very distracting for a moon calf like you!”

 

Léofe flushed. “You knew he was here?”

 

“I may be half-lame, goosey, but never blind.”

 

“Well,” she said, determined to avoid any more questions. “Well.”

 

“Léofe,” he said, his gruff voice holding a tone of warning. “He is the prince.”

 

“I know that, Papa,” she said. “I - I haven’t gone and fallen in love with him, if that’s what you are getting at. He brought Brego to see me.”

 

“Did he now?” Gerdhelm’s eyebrows disappeared into his mop of grey hair. “Then perhaps I should have a chat with him instead of you.”

 

“It does not mean anything, surely,” she said hastily. “And in any case, I really must start my chores before it gets any darker.”

 

He waved her away, ending the conversation. Léofe’s formed sank into the shadows, and Gerdhelm sighed mightily as he started to rub his aching knee. As naive as his daughter was, the prince was not such a mince-head. No lordly marshal would be calling on a young girl with no more notion than to let her see his horse. Well, if nothing else, the prince seemed honorable, and perhaps that was enough. It would a comfort to see his daughter set up better than she was raised. Gerdhelm sighed again and stood, setting his mind towards supper. 


	8. Chapter 8

Théodred's eyes were burning as he tried to focus on the scribbling in front of him. If the garbled account was to be believed, a band of orcs had been allowed through the border at Éomer's order. The underlying accusation, laced heavily with insinuation, implied that Éomer's actions were for his own political gain.

Of all the ridiculous notions! Had the schemers, the liars, the manipulators no sense of what one's _family_ meant? Did they truly think that some secondhand, obviously falsified account would have him reaching for his sword and thirsting for his own cousin's blood? Grima could be clever. But this stank of absurdity.

He threw the letter into the fire, watching with grim satisfaction as flames licked the corners. His eyes began to water from staring into the light, and he jumped when a light knock sounded on the door.

"Enter!"

His aunt strode through the door, shutting it behind her and casting her eyes over his jumbled desk. He could only imagine what sort of reprimand she was preparing for him, but he decided he was really not in the mood.

"What is it?" he asked.

"My, you're out of sorts," Alfrida said, tapping a finger on his desk. "Bad day?"

"Terrible. Brego took a stone to his hoof and had to be reshod, and your husband nearly knocked my lights out in the yard today," Théodred said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "It has never been very much of a contest between us, I do not see why he feels he must persist in thrashing me."

"Pride," she said promptly. "Shall I send for some willow bark tea?"

"Actually, yes, if you would. But what on earth has pride to do with anything?"

"Erkenbrand tires of being ordered about by you. He does like to relieve his frustration sometimes, you know. It keeps him biddable."

"You clearly know that well enough," Théodred said, raising an eyebrow as two bright pink spots appeared on her face.

"Did you receive any interesting correspondence?" she asked, changing the subject.

He snorted, his earlier annoyance returning. "Apparently Éomer wants to be king. I thought that was interesting."

"That is...certainly interesting," Alfrida's face formed what could only be termed a grimace. Théodred privately thanked his lucky stars that his aunt was so sensible. For all her imperial manners, she was very rarely deceived. "Did your father send a message?"

"Er...no," he said.

"Théodred," Alfrida began with a deep breath, and he felt that he already knew where she was going. "It has been nearly eight months since your father wrote you! Previous to last year, he would send at least a missive every month. It troubles me, and even though you hide behind your princely mask - " She pointed a finger at his nose. "You are distressed as well. Go to Edoras!"

"It is not safe," he said, lowering her hand. "You know it is not."

"It is not safe for Théoden either! But still he is there."

"He is safer than I. For the moment it benefits the enemy to have him on the throne."

"Then Éowyn," Alfrida persisted. "Éowyn would be pleased to see you. She cannot be entirely safe, being so close to the throne."

"Éowyn has Éomer," Théodred said. "He will bend over backwards to see her safe, and he is still allowed in Meduseld."

"You would be too, if you pleaded to your father!"

Théodred rubbed his eyes, feeling his headache steadily increasing. "I can no longer see him privately. There is a standing order that his is accompanied by an advisor at all times, even when with family."

"Blast it, boy!" Alfrida was scowling now, her small fists balled at her sides. "You are impossible! How have you given up so easily? You love your father! You love this country!"

"My love is not in the question!" Théodred snapped, rising to his feet to stare down the much shorter woman. "There are a thousand things I would do to benefit my country if it did not mean turning myself into a traitor or sending myself to the hangman's noose!"

"There are more options than sitting and doing nothing!"

"I am not doing nothing! I do double patrol rounds, as you well know!" It was a pathetic protest, as he knew she was absolutely correct, but he held his ground.

"There are plenty of men to patrol," Alfrida said, her voice lowering somewhat. "And there are other leaders as well. But you are the only heir! You are my brother's only son, and you should put your family in order first, before further fighting."

"That I cannot do," Théodred said, sinking back into his chair, anger abating. "Please, Alf - I am sorry I lost my temper. I am all out of sorts today."

"Yes, indeed," she muttered, frowning as he passed a hand over his face. "Anyway," her voice gentled. "I came to remind you that I am leaving in the morning for Snowbourne. My old friend Aedlind is expecting a baby any day, and I promised her I would attend. Ermhild has been prepared to take on my duties here."

"I remember, Alfie. I intend to keep Erkenbrand busy," he said, smiling. "Otherwise he will catch a case of the megrims."

"Erk will be fine," Alfrida said. "But what about you, Théodred?"

"I will certainly carry on living."

She was not impressed by his grin. "What will you do about your father?" she asked.

He leaned forward, putting his weight on his elbows and ignoring the crunch of parchment underneath. "I will think on it. I will counsel. I will decide. Do not worry so, Alfie! There is hope yet."

.

.

Théodred tightened the straps on his vambraces, pulling the laces with his teeth before tying them together. His gloves were already on and tucked underneath the cords, and with a precursory shake (the Hornburg did have a problem with spiders), he threw his cloak over his shoulder. He clasped it around his neck with a _click_ just as a knock sounded at his door.

"My lord," a muffled voice made its way through the wood. "Brego is saddled and ready for departure."

Heavy footsteps retreated before Théodred could respond, and he sighed. For all his accustomed solitude, the past days of his aunt's absence and Erkenbrand leading his own patrol, he had rather missed a friendly conversation. There was no use in instigating anything of the sort with his men; they were either too grim, too fearful of his station, or spies.

_I ought to find a squire_ , he thought to himself, picking up his scabbard before departing his chamber. A squire would certainly help with the vambraces, even though an awkward adolescent boy was probably a poor choice for a friend.

The sky was bright though the sun remained behind the mountains, and already feeling warm in his layers of protection, Théodred wished for a breeze. Clouds. Anything. But the bright blue expanse overhead and the buzzing of insects taunted him. It was to be another hot, miserable patrol.

The courtyard was chaos, as expected. So many horses in close quarters and ready for exercise rarely cooperated, and Brego seemed especially agitated, snorting and shying as he saw his master approach. Théodred took time to talk to his friend, stroking his nose and neck, before taking the reins from a stableboy.

"Thank you," Théodred said, but the boy had already run away from Brego's nervous hooves. He sighed, and turned back to the stallion. "You shall be my only friend for the time being, eh?" he asked, ruffling Brego's ears. Foam was dropping from the horse's lips, and with a frightened whinny Brego reared slightly, his eyes rolling back into his head. "Hold!" Théodred shouted, holding up his hand and trying to grasp the halter. A suitable amount of shame showed in Brego's eyes as he quieted slightly, and he huffed hot breath in Théodred's face, which was not fully appreciated. "What has gotten into you?" Théodred murmured, scratching the stallion's chin. "Whatever could be - "

A sudden slam caught his attention - the great gate to the courtyard from the causeway bust open, a single rider clomped through, scattering Riders and breathing heavily.

"Attack!" the man shouted hoarsely. "At - attack - orcs - Isen - Isenburg - " His face was growing red, and with a shuddering gasp leaned forward in his saddle. A servant rushed to help him dismount; voices growing in distress as the message was relayed.

Théodred's grip in the reins loosened as his heart stuttered. Brego reared, this time screaming. The horse was rushed by other riders as Brego continued to scream. But Théodred could barely hear, let alone calm Brego. His vision was suddenly cloudy, though he could see faces coming closer to him, and they seemed to be shouting, asking. But he could only think of what the man had said. Isenburg. _Léofe_.

"Grimbold!" Théodred bellowed, clarity rushing back to him as fear surged over him. "Ready your eored at once - get to Isenburg!" He did not dare say aloud that it was likely too late - for the two-day journey to the village, and considering that the man had come from there - the village would already be razed. "My men! We will scour the Westfold, for the orcs or survivors - which ever we can find."

There was one particular area he had in mind, the very same area for which he sent a muttered prayer as he finally regained enough control over Brego to mount. It explained the stallion's distress, he thought numbly. _He_ should have known better.

_Two days' ride_! Why must it be so far away? And why did the prairie under Brego's hooves seem to be moving forward with them, pulling the destination further and further away as Théodred shouted again and again for them to increase their pace? A thousand images were surfacing in his mind, each more horrible than the last. Léofe dead. Léofe begging to die. Léofe, in one way or another, suffering more than any human could bear -

The sun was sinking to the horizon when the familiar hills came into sight. Renewed terror nearly stopped his heart, but Théodred gritted his teeth, tightening his hold on the reins. Brego's steady gallop, which had continued nearly the entire day without fault, now grew frantic. Would an enemy that crossed their path fear more the Rider, or the horse?

A large, sinking stone of dread settled in Théodred's stomach as Brego tossed his head. The blue sky was now blemished by black smoke, which rose directly in front of them.

The farm was burning.

.

.

There was not an orc in sight, which was fortunate for the orcs. Théodred found it vastly inopportune for himself, having frightened himself for the past several hours he was now ready to tear the beasts with his bare hands. They would deserve it, too, for the gruesome sights that met him as they entered the fields at a trot.

Corpses of horses littered the ground before them. Bile rose in Théodred's throat at the sight of a particularly elegant mare, which had been completely gutted in the training grounds. The training grounds where Brego had been trained. The grounds were Léofe had spent her days -

Riders fanned out around him, shouting to each other and reporting back. Brego had stopped by the charred remains of the fence, and Théodred rested his forehead on his fist, unable to race the sight in front of him. Despite having imagined the worst, and in rather vivid detail, seeing Gerdhelm's rickety house reduced to blackened rubble and the stables still alight with dying flames filled him with such - such _rage_. He had been angry before; angry at the orcs for killing his people and destroying his land, but this went further. This was personal. It was deeply, intensely personal, as if the orcs had known somehow that this place was where Théodred had found peace. That this, this was where he had hidden away his heart for safekeeping.

"No life!" One man shouted.

"Orcs went south - tracks into the woods!" yelled another.

Théodred lifted his face, steeling himself. He could not look himself, but soon someone would find her, and he would have to brave it out. He had to be strong. So many families had been torn apart, and they had survived. He would, too, because he had to.

"Over here! I found - " The rest of the words were lost, the message was clear.

He jerked around, Brego snorting as Théodred spurred him east, where several Riders were congregating. _Even if it is terrible - grisly - sickening - must be strong -_ He alighted, keeping a tenuous hold on Brego as a man walked forward, his arm firmly gripped on a bare, freckled arm - Théodred swallowed.

_Must be strong -_

"I found her in a barrow, sire."

He nearly took a step back - Léofe's light eyes were staring at him - red-rimmed and filled with tears - but _they were alive_. She was alive. "By the gods," he murmured, stepping forward to grasp her arms. "You - alive - are you hurt?"

Her lips were cracked, and they trembled as she breathed in little gasps. Her eyes darted around them, taking in the sight of a dozen fully-armed and unsmiling Riders, an equal number of horses fit for battle, the smoke still rising behind them - and she swooned.

"Water!" Théodred bellowed, catching her in the crook of his arm. He lowered her gently to the ground, kneeling and accepting a flask of water, which he tried to pour into her mouth, but with very poor results. His hands were shaking too much.

"I will do it." Allred's calm voice broke through, and the flask was taken from him. Théodred stared as Allred began to administer to Léofe, wishing he could do something - anything, apart from waiting.

After several tense moments, Léofe began to cough, spewing water over her faded dress as well as the two men beside her. Her eyes shot open, and her frightened gaze settled on Théodred. She was licking her lips, and he imagined he could imagine what she was going to say.

"You are safe," he told her, and he suddenly wished they were alone. He could hold her hand, smooth the hair from her face… "The, er - farm is gone, but you are safe."

"Papa." The word came out in a rasp. Théodred saw Allred shaking his head, a pang of grief overtook him for a moment as he closed his eyes.

"You are safe," Théodred repeated, opening his eyes once more. "That is more than many others can say for having their homes destroyed by evil beasts!" It was meant to be a light-hearted, to bring that beautiful, lively smile to her face - but it had the rather opposite effect, and a river of tears began to course down her cheeks.

A keening wail sent many of the onlookers staggering back, and Allred stood as she curled herself into a ball, drawing her arms over her face. Théodred touched her shoulder hesitantly, but there was no response. He looked to Allred, who, despite appearing troubled, only shrugged.

"Er - " Théodred said. "Send a scout to see if the orcs are still near enough to engage. Order camp in the meantime."

With directions given, he was left essentially alone with Léofe, who continued her weeping as the sky darkened from orange to purple to grey. He did not know what to do, and being in the sight of his men (some of whom were spies for Grima), he was unwilling to try to comfort her. When Allred returned, reporting that the orcs were already twenty miles away and that the camp was prepared, Théodred had made his decision. "Find Hamlin," he said, naming the eored's healer. "Ask him to bring a dose of laudanum."

Léofe had subsided into fits of trembling by the time the healer arrived, and she allowed herself to be held up by Théodred as the medicine was pressed through her lips. It worried Théodred that her eyes seemed lifeless, and he stayed with her as she slowly stopped shaking, and her eyes began to close.

A heavy hand dropped on his shoulder, and startled, he looked up to see Allred watching him. "Hamlin insisted that she take his tent," he said quietly. "I will take her. No - do not protest - I understand that you care for her but your actions have not gone unnoticed. Do not let her fall victim to those who wish to see you fail!"

Théodred could only watch, still numb, as Allred lifted Léofe's limp body from the ground and walked towards the tents, which had been pitched on the far side of the barrows, out of sight from the desolate farm. The stables were no longer aflame, but he felt that the fright in his heart would not be so easily quenched.


	9. Chapter 9

The headache behind Léofe's eyes the following morning was nothing to scoff at. Indeed, she could not recall any instance in her life that she had been in such singular and agonizing pain.

It did _not_ subside over the course of the day.

It did not help that the entire day was spent being constantly jolted on Brego's back. As much as she normally would have usually enjoyed riding whilst in Théodred's embrace, that day it was confining, and being surrounded by a hundred or more Riders only made her more irritable. The pain and confusion had only added to her grief, and so the haze of surreality followed her from dawn until dusk and she began to wonder if she was simply caught in a horrible, horrible dream.

She threw the blanket from her body, drawing her knees to her chest to massage her calves, still feeling as if she were moving even though she had bedded down in the tent several hours earlier.

_Take rest,_ Théodred had told her. _The sentries will keep all of us safe._ But she had balked at the suggestion that an unknown guard be posted outside of her assigned tent.

"A stranger? You wish to put me under the mercy of a _stranger_?" Her temper, unsurprisingly, was awfully close to the surface, and she had tried to stare down the prince with all the indignity she could muster.

"I wish to keep you safe," he had replied, passing Brego's reins to a squire while he steered her, a firm grip on her elbow, towards where the tents were being struck.

"I do not feel safe as is! A strange man will hardly help!" she snapped.

"I will not allow you to be without protection."

"Then I will not sleep at all!" she said. "I will spend the night at the fire laughing with the guards. I would very much enjoy a slew of vulgar jokes right now!"

For a moment Théodred seemed as though he would laugh; his lips twitched upwards. But then his face turned stern once more. "There is little laughter among the soldiers of late," he said quietly. "And I am sure they know better than to trade lewd jokes in the company of a lady."

"I am not a _lady_ ," Léofe said primly, wrenching her elbow from his grasp none too gently, stopping their progression in the chaos that was the camp. "I am a _maid_. And I appreciate crassness as much as anyone."

One of his eyebrows shot skywards, and then he sighed. "Léofe, if it comforts you, I will be your personal guard tonight."

"Oh!" She had not realized that her complaints would have caused him to offer so. As tempting as it was… "I suppose I will be safe among your men," she said after a moment. "I would not dare inconvenience the king's heir."

"There will be little sleep for me tonight," he said. "Nightmares come too easily, when the moon is dark and death is near."

"But, the fact remains -"

"The fact remains that you need to rest," Théodred said, grasping her limp hand to pull her forward once more. "And I will grant it."

Her guilt had only increased when he brought her supper, and after that a small pot of hot water and rags to wash herself. But she had not felt so guilty that she left her tent, for to be under the scrutiny of so many others was far worse than being alone with her thoughts.

Léofe sighed and turned over on her back. Despite having several blankets under her, she could still feel large rocks in her back. It did not help that she still wore her tightly bodiced dress.

Was this what her life would now be? Awkward, uncomfortable, and nervous? Would she find a peaceful place to live once more? She squashed that thought - if her memories of yesterday surfaced, her tears would be torrents, and she did not care to have Théodred hear her weeping.

She sat up and tried twisting her arms once more to her back, where her dress was laced. At home, she had used a crochet hook to lace herself, and here in this camp she had neither of those luxuries. And nor would she sleep for the discomfort. She nearly wished for more of that medicine, which had forced her to sleep no matter the pain the previous night.

Léofe heard a rustle outside the tent, and a horribly wicked thought came to her. But she was desperate - desperate enough to lose Théodred's good opinion. He was going to think her terribly forward. Tentatively she untied the flaps, peeking her nose through the door at the prince's concerned face as he saw her from his low stool. "What is it?" he asked, dropping a whetting stone, and gripping more firmly a knife in his other hand. "Are you well?"

She cast her eyes around - they were essentially alone. A single man tended the nearest fire about fifteen feet away, but his back was towards them. "I need help," she whispered.

"What is it?" he asked again.

Léofe paused. Why had she thought this was a good idea! "I cannot unlace my dress," she said, casting her eyes down and to the depths of Morgoth's prison, where Théodred's opinion of her was surely headed.

But he did not seem angry at all, his eyes widening and his mouth softening. "There are no women to help you," he said. "But if I may be of service."

"Thank you," she could barely mouth the words, and turned so that he could reach her laces, drawing her loose hair from her back so that it lay on her breast.

Nothing could have prepared her for the sensation of Théodred's gentle fingers, warm even though her shift, as he undid the laces. Léofe closed her eyes, revelling in the sensation of being touched in such a manner. She hoped he would not see the goosepimples that were racing across her bare skin! She held her bodice to her chest to keep it from falling, and once he was finished, she thought she imagined that he fingers lingered on the small of her back.

"There," he said softly. "You are finished."

She turned, still holding her dress resolutely together. "Thank you," she whispered. There was nothing else to say as his warm, brown eyes seized her gaze and held her there, and not entirely against her will. Though his face was obscured in shadow, the expression on it seemed at once intense and tender, and it was awfully close to hers. Was he leaning towards her?

The fire cracked. Théodred stirred, and looked away from her. "Good night, dear Léofe," he said. "I will see you in the morning."

.

.

The second day passed similarly to the first, Léofe riding Brego with Théodred's arms around her. Only a few words passed between them, as a new and timid sort of silence descended upon them. She felt as if her face was going to be permanently flushed, and she tried to lean forward as they rode so that she could not feel so much of him.

Yet, she still fervently wished that he could return her affection.

Was it so far-fetched a hope? He referred to her as dear, and the previous night she had thought for a moment that he would kiss her. If only he had! She fell into daydreaming, contemplating just how wonderful it would be to have his lips pressing against hers, wrapped in his strong embrace…

Léofe must have fallen asleep, for she started awake as the normal pounding of hooves against grass changed to a clanging and ringing against stone. Her mouth fell open as she looked ahead - a large, stone-walled fortress was suddenly before her. She had clearly been sleeping for much longer than she realized. Somehow she had also come to be draped in Théodred's dark green cloak, and at the apprehension of arriving at the Deep, she drew it closer around her shoulders.

"High time you woke," Théodred said behind her. His voice was light, as if he had not a care in the world. Why was he so happy, anyway?

"Yes," she said stiffly. He did not respond again, and her moodiness continued as they passed through the gate and into the Hornburg's chaotic inner court. They have evidently been expected, or at least sighted from the road, for dozens of people were milling about, some busy and some simply watching. Léofe looked down to see Théodred waiting to help her dismount, and she swung her leg over, which was beginning to tingle. At once an alarming sharp pain rushed through her legs and rear end, and she fell forward with a cry into Théodred's arms. To his credit, he did not lose his footing at all, his strong arms holding her securely around the waist.

"Are you alright?" he murmured into her hair.

"I - I think so," she said. "Only - my legs are numb." She heard a small sigh, and was lifted into his arms like a babe. "Put me down!" she screeched, and thrashed her shoulders. "Put me down this instant!"

"You cannot stand," Théodred said, his voice glinting with iron. "I think that you would prefer to not crawl into the hall."

"I would rather crawl by my own will than be...be coddled for another minute!" Léofe was feeling the reality of her situation quite clearly and suddenly. She was surrounded by strangers - many of whom were now staring despite her dark scowl, and she was confined in a stone fortress. She could only see walls of stone and iron as she whipped her head around! Her heart began to race, for Théodred's closeness or for panic - she did not quite care to discover.

"You will suffer it," the prince said. "Since you are otherwise without protection, it would be wise of you to accept mine." She fumed in silence, and kept her frown firmly in place as Théodred carried her through a set of oaken doors and sat her down rather gently, considering their exchange, at a long table in the dark hall. "There," he said. "That was not so bad, was it?"

For an odd reason, he was wearing a smile that was both sinister and triumphant. Léofe's frown deepened. "I could have walked," she insisted.

"I will find the housekeeper presently. She will see you settled."

Léofe was left in the empty hall, and she folded her arms and glared daggers at Théodred's back. He presumed much! And too little at once. Would it not be convenient - a thought wiggled into her mind - if he were to marry her? Then he could care for her all he pleased!

Oh, but he would not be pleased by her. She was an absolute menace; ungrateful even as he protected her. Léofe sighed.

"His Highness has informed me that you in need of a room," a voice said behind her, and Léofe turned to see a middle-aged woman standing over her and looking down her long nose with hooded eyes.

"Yes, I imagine he did."

"Follow me." Whoever this woman was, she was certainly purposeful. She led Léofe down a corridor at a fast pace, which Léofe struggled to follow as feeling slowly returned to her legs. They passed an open kitchen - which seemed to be bursting with maids and platters of food being rushed about, until they came to a small door at the end of the hall. "This room recently opened," the woman said, unlatching the door and waving Léofe through. "The scullery who rented it was recently married. It will fit your circumstances."

_My circumstances! I might have lost my livelihood, but I am no servant!_ she wanted to scream. But she only nodded, not bothering to force a polite smile. "It will do," she said in a bland voice. She could probably touch both walls with her arms if she stretched them out. A tiny bed was tucked in the back underneath a slit of a window, and there was a chest at the foot of the bed.

"I will send someone with a change of clothes as well," the woman said. "You are hardly fit to be seen in public."

"Your generosity does you credit," Léofe said, letting the full measure of her sarcasm be felt.

"I am generous as befits my station as housekeeper and keeper of the house in Lady Alfrida's absence," the woman said, her nose rising higher. "You do not receive any higher kindness than she herself would give."

"I can hardly wait to acquaint myself with the Lady and tell her of your admirably filled duties."

The woman looked at her sharply. "You shall do no such thing. The Lady will not be disturbed by a chit of a girl wearing little more than a shift. Curb your tongue, girl, you are no longer living in the fens!" She pulled the door shut with a bang as she exited, and Léofe was left alone.

She promptly howled out her rage and threw herself on the knobbly mattress in despair.

.

.

Evidently her status had been pronounced upon her head with finality, for during supper she was directed to the servants' table where she sat at the end of a table and beside an adolescent squire, who ate thrice as much as she did and picked his nose. Her appetite quite deserted her.

Léofe's back was towards the rest of the tables, and she could not muster the courage to turn and seek out the prince. And she did not dare to tell him of how the housekeeper had treated her, either. She feared that he would agree with where she had been placed. What was she, after all? Certainly not a lady. Did she really expect to be given courtesies, when she was little better than a peasant?

_Her father raised good horses_. That much was true, but now she had neither father nor horses to her name. She was left, she was abandoned, and she was dreadfully poor. She had her own clothes, and the loaned smock of grey wool that had been brought by for her. It was the same as the rest of the servants wore - surely that meant that she was a servant now, too.

Once the meal was over, Léofe ducked out of the hall through the servants' door (and she would have to become used to it, as well). She did not wish to retire yet - her mind was still swirling with anxieties and she certainly did not wish to face them in that tiny room. She wandered the corridors for a bit, dodging servants and soldiers, until she found her way to a small, private courtyard which happened to be unguarded. There were stone benches aplenty, and she chose one that faced the sunset and sat, tucking her feet underneath her.

Tears fell; for her father, for her horses, for her home, for the horribly way she behaved towards Théodred, for the even worse way that she had been treated, for her loneliness, and for the freedom of the untouchable sky that comforted her for the next several hours.

.

.

A soft tapping on the door woke Léofe with a jolt, and she jumped out of bed with a blanket around her shoulders. A young face peered at her as she opened the door. "I have a message for Mistress Léofe," the boy said proudly. "Are you she?"

"I am," she said. "Please, come in."

The boy entered her room with his arms clasped formally behind his back, and he stood and looked down at her as she sat on her bed. "To Mistress Léofe, from Prince Théodred. We have had to ride out immediately at the report of an orc band twenty miles east. I apologize for not taking my leave of you in a better manner; we had to depart at midnight." The boy paused here, as if waiting for her to way something.

"Go on," she encouraged.

"I have told Ermhild that she is at your disposal. Please do not hesitate to inform her of your needs. When I return we will have a long talk and sort everything out." The boy stopped again, then said, "That was all, mistress."

"Thank you for the message," she said. "Could - could you possibly tell me who Ermhild is?"

"Ermhild?" The boy's solemn expression faltered. "Er - she is the acting housekeeper, I thought everyone knew that."

"I only arrived yesterday, that is why I do not know," Léofe said. "Is she tall, with a long nose?"

The boy grinned at her. "So you do know her.

"Thank you again - ?"

"Helm."

"Thank you, Helm."

He bowed and took his leave. Once she was alone again, Léofe groaned into her hands. Théodred had left her too, and at the mercy of that horrible woman.

She was doomed.


	10. Chapter 10

Ermhild may have demoted Léofe to the room and garb of a servant, but evidently did not carry such an authority to give her menial duties. And so Léofe was left on her own, bored and miserable as she tried to adjust to living in a busy fortress without a friend in sight. 

 

She visited first the stables, thinking that exchanging the company of people for that beasts would restore her spirits. As she passed through the gate, the smell of fresh hay, old apples, manure and horses met her with the comforting wholeness to which she was accustomed. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, though it was cut short as an armored rider barrelled past her. 

 

“Move aside, girl!” he turned to bark at her. “There is no time for dallying here! Meet your lad elsewhere.”

 

Tears stung her eyes, and humiliated as the stable boys and others milling about turned to stare at her, Léofe turned on her heel and ran. 

 

Was there to be nothing left for her?

 

Grey rain heralded the autumn, and the grass in the valley died. If it could even be called grass, Léofe thought to herself sourly as she peeked through her window. It was short and yellow, and she doubted that it would be green and lush even in the spring. There was not even a sunrise on that day, for thick clouds covered the sky and stifled her further. A little sun would have been most welcome to her in her sickbed. Her luck had only become worse as the days passed, but at least now that she was laid up with a head cold she had an excuse to not leave her room and be stared at by all the servants. 

 

She sneezed violently - once, twice, three times - and blew her nose on the corner of the thin shawl she had stolen from the laundry.  _ Now, _ she thought to herself.  _ When I thought that my life could not possibly become sorrier, it was not an invitation for the weather to do its worst! _

 

A rap on the door made her jump, and she pulled the blankets higher on her chest. “Enter,” she said hoarsely, hurrying to brush the stray hair from her face. 

 

Théodred stepped through the door, bending down slightly to fit through and filling her room with his presence. Was her room truly so small? He was dirty and travel-stained, and she imagined that he was smelly, but as her sense of smell was quite gone it did not bother her. He gave her a smile, and she wrung her hands together underneath the covers.

 

“What is it?” she asked, hoping that perhaps he had gone blind over the last several weeks, and that he would not see her red, leaky nose and bloodshot eyes. 

 

“We are returned,” he said slowly, looking her up and down. “Could you possibly tell me why you are in a servants’ chamber?”   
  


_ Because the stupid, snobbish housekeeper thought it befitting my station! _ she thought to shout at him. But she could not. Her pride lifted her eyes to his, and the same pride suppressed her from melting within his gaze. 

 

“Isolation, I suppose,” he answered for her. “I imagine that Ermhild did not wish you to cause any others to become sick.”

 

“Of course,” Léofe said, feeling dumb. 

 

He continued study her, and she felt herself reddening. “Is there something you wished to speak to me about?” she asked. 

 

“Ah, yes - of course. But I do not wish to cause you to exert yourself. I must tell you that my eored is departing again today. I did intend to speak to you of your future, but now is, er, clearly not the proper time. I have a specific question to ask you, truthfully.” He seemed to be babbling somewhat, which Léofe found disconcerting. 

 

“It is kind of you to tell me in person that you are leaving,” she said. “But there was no cause. Surely if you had not come I would not have even noticed that you had arrived.”

 

The prince seemed confused at her words, and then he shook his head slightly. “I am leaving Brego in your care,” he said. “He has been tireless the past two months but lately he has been lagging, and so has earned a long rest. I will inform the grooms to see to him until you recover. Brego is at your disposal. You may ride him, if you wish. I have thought that it might be difficult for you to be away from your home.”

 

His thoughtfulness had her welling up with tears, though it could have been the itch in her throat. “I thank you,” she whispered. “I shall spoil him.”

 

“I imagine you would,” his lips pulled into his heart-wrenching half-smile, and Léofe smothered a sigh. “That is all,” Théodred said briskly after a moment. “I will see you again when I return. We have a great deal to discuss, you and I.”

 

Léofe was left gaping at his back as he turned and left, shutting the door gently behind him. Discuss? What on earth did they have to discuss? But more importantly - Brego was here! She closed her eyes and settled deeper into bed. She needed to become well again quickly, and then she might see Brego again all the sooner.

 

.

 

.

 

Brego’s warm eyes were unchanged, though the whiskers around his chin was not as soft as it used to be. He still enjoyed her scratching his ears and neck, and Léofe hummed to herself while the stallion relaxed under her touch. It was the happiest she had been in a long time - if her reckoning was correct, she had been in the Hornburg for nearly six weeks. Six extremely miserable weeks, and Théodred had been out on patrols for their entirety. It would not be nearly so pitiful, she thought to herself, if she had a friend. Théodred was her friend, was he not?

 

There was a tapping on the stall door, and Léofe looked up to see Erkenbrand’s grinning face looking down at her. “I heard a rumor that there was a young miss wooing the prince’s horse,” he said without preamble. “I had to see if it was true!”

 

Léofe scoffed. “I am simply enjoying his company, as he is enjoying mine. Wooing indeed! Brego loved me far before he loved Théodred.” 

 

“Have you ridden him very much?”

 

She paused, willing her face not to flush in embarrassment. “Only with Théodred,” she said. “I never ride a horse to be sold.”

 

“Is that so?”

 

“My father’s rule. The Rohirrim prefer to train their own horses, at least for riding. And with the bonding...if I rode a horse I would only interfere with its future relationship with its master.”

 

“Can’t be completely true,” Erkenbrand rumbled, rubbing his beard. “My wife will only take a horse that has been trained by another. She does not care much for them.”

 

The insinuation that a Rohirric woman did not care for horses was akin to saying a bird preferred not to fly. Léofe could only shake her head in disbelief as a grin grew on the other man’s face. 

 

“She was raised in Gondor, for a time,” he explained. 

 

Léofe muttered something about excuses, fetching a comb to relieve Brego’s mane of tangles. Erkenbrand was still standing there, and at once remembering what Théodred had said and feeling distinctly uncomfortable, she asked, “Were you not on patrol?”

 

“Aye, I was,” he said, appearing pleased for the inquiry. “We returned only last night. I am eager to leave again; without Alf and Théodred this fortress can be a drag.” Léofe agreed in murmur, not liking the way his eyes suddenly brightened. “Say, are you at all familiar with jumping horses? Théodred was training Brego in their spare time, but a few months ago…” He trailed off here, looking slightly red around the ears. Léofe frowned. “There has not been any time of late, I mean to say. Would you like to continue the training?”

 

Did she ever! A chance to ride Brego, to fill her time with training and perhaps the only possible semblance for normality? “I am not entirely sure I should,” she said. “Théodred said I might visit and ride Brego, but he did not say I could teach him any tricks.”

 

“Hardly a trick,” Erkenbrand said, now looking satisfied. “I would assist you were I not to lead another patrol on the morrow. You ought to take him out sometime. It would be enjoyable for you both, I should think.” 

 

The huge bear of a man took his leave, and Léofe was left with a dilemma. Should she take up training Brego again? It was awfully suspect; Rohirric tradition held that a horse could only be ridden by its master or immediate family, excepting in times of war. She had been excused for arriving on Brego for her circumstances; she hadn’t cared too much when Théodred had taken her into town on his gelding the winter previous. And he had said that she could ride Brego. But would that not make a target for gossip? It would certainly bend Ermhild’s imperious nose out of shape. 

 

Léofe refilled Brego’s feed and water troughs, giving him a last scratch behind the ears before walking back into the hall for supper. She had taken longer than she realized, and Léofe grimaced at the thought of taking sup while smelling of the stables. Well, the Riders were no different. And as she sat with the servants, who would care, anyway?

 

Whispers seemed to hover over her meal, and despite her scowl at being stared at, Léofe looked up every few moments to see heads turn away from her. It was only slightly more irritating than normal, for still she could not understand why she caused such derision. She tried to eat her fill despite feeling nauseated and wishing that she could escape the hall. She did try to fill her own mind so that she would not hear what was being said, but Brego's name pricked her ears.

 

"I thought it was bad form to let your whore on your horse." A mutter from her left caused her clench her fist, nearly bending her spoon in half. 

 

"That is unfair," a softer voice replied. "She seems like much less than a respectable whore. Any self-respecting, trained harlot wouldn't try to increase her station."

 

"Yer one to talk," a third, bland tone interjected. "Ye tried for the prince yourself last Midsummer, and ye ain't trained at all."

 

The second voice sniffed. "Not to increase my station, Hilgund."

 

"Only the weight of yer purse," Hilgund retorted. "Finish yer sups, both of ye,  and get back to the kitchen."

 

The chatter died down after that, and Léofe's grip on her utensils slackened. So she had a friend, or a defender. And more enemies, for that. How did she become the target of such petty malice? The answer was obvious, of course, she thought as she stabbed at her pie before consuming it. The prince. Her acquaintance with Théodred was evidently one to covet. Was he not so kind to the servants in the Deep?

 

That question troubled her, and soon after she sought the solace of her chamber, though once she sat on the bed she wishes she were anywhere else. Théodred was a handsome man, there was no doubt of it, as well as the king's son, a marshal, and great leader in war. Any woman would be lucky to receive a smile from him, let alone the consideration that Léofe felt he had always shown her.  But she received his attentions because he bought his stallion from her father, not for any special regard. That much was true, was it not?

 

_ And what if that was not true?  _ If it was not mutual respect he felt for her, the only other reasonable explanation considering his station as well as her own, was that he pitied her. And Léofe hated pity above all else in the world. She had been pitied as long as she remembered; for the death of her mother, for the poverty that she and her father lived in and which had increased yearly. She could recall a specific instance, once which made her insides boil with disgust. 

 

An eight-year-old Léofe clinging to Gerdhelm’s hand as he did his business in the market of Isenburg. The shop owners ignored her, which she did not mind, but she was not the only child there. One grubby boy, about her age, had stuck his tongue out at her and called her that detestable name, for the first time in her life -  _ “Gutter snipe!”  _ His mother had heard the quip, however, and struck him in the face for it. Her own gaze had settled on Léofe, and likely her torn dress and bare feet, and the mother had told her demon of a child that poor people must not be hated, but pitied.  _ Bad fortune and breeding could happen to anyone, _ she had said. 

 

Much older now, Léofe found it rather ironic that such a dirty boy had thought  _ her _ disgusting, and that the mother had corrected his manners with worse ones. She had been poor for years, but she had always retained her pride. Pride in her horses, and pride that she and her father had always been able to live independently. 

 

Léofe collapsed on her knobbly mattress, wincing as she felt the hard wood of the frame underneath the slip of pillow. Her younger self would not endure this humiliation. She had been shunned, sniffed at and disregarded as common since she had arrived at the Deep, but she was not common! She raised wonderful horses, famous in the Westmark and sought for by princes! 

 

It was all insufferable; living with knowledge of her own abilities and yet hearing differently from all around her. Why could no one believe that she was not so worthless? Théodred thought kindly of her . . .

 

Her thoughts jumbled into this circling confusion, causing Léofe to bury herself in her bed linens with her eyes squeezed shut. Everything seemed to return to Théodred, as much as she tried to keep him away. His friendship, or sponsorship, or whatever he would term it - brought her to attention but it did not bring her privilege. Ought she to blame him for it? But how could she? - for she could deny her sentiments no longer; she did love him, so very deeply. 

 

Blast it, she could not bear to live within these walls a moment longer! 

 

Swinging her legs over the side of the rackety cot, Léofe took a deep breath, decision clearing her mind. After all, there was little need to continue living in the fortress; she had no family and no occupation. She was clearly unwelcomed by nearly all the residents, and likely unwanted by Théodred as well. It would be simpler, to remove herself without a fuss. 

 

Brego - she could not leave him! The horrifying thought that followed turned her stomach in knots -  _ take him along _ . Stealing a horse was a terrible offense by the law, stealing a Rider’s horse far worse, and making off with the prince’s? Well, she would likely be hanged for taking any horse, she may as well make out count. With this part of her plan finally in place, Léofe curled up next to her window, watching for dawn when she might escape. 

 

It had not snowed yet; Léofe had overheard many times complaints and worries from individuals within the Keep. It was considered a bad omen for winter to delay its wrath, but she was grateful for it. It was cold enough with her few layers of clothing in the thin grey air as she stomped her way to the stable. She would not be tracked so easily, either. 

 

Brego was perfectly happy to see her, and she was pleased to see an unattended bag of apples near his stall. She spread a saddle blanket across his back and was fastening a thin rope bridle when she heard approaching steps, and jumped. 

 

“Oi, miss! That be the Marshal’s steed - ye’ll be imprisoned for such an offense!” So the stables were guarded. Fortunately Léofe came prepared, and turned to face the much taller man with fiery eyes. 

 

“I have permission from the Marshal himself, dolt,” she snapped. “And Lord Erkenbrand as well, in case you are questioning my right to be here.”

 

“Er - well, that is to say -” 

 

Léofe smiled to herself. She had rightly assumed that Erkenbrand was not one any soldier would willingly cross. And technically, it had been Erkenbrand’s suggestion that she take Brego out. Although she was stretching his meaning rather far. 

 

“Return to your duties, sir, and I shall not take this matter further,” she adopted what she thought was a lordly manner. 

 

“Yes, my lady.” The guard bowed and continued on, his cheeks red. 

 

That had been much easier than Léofe thought! After the guard had moved far enough down the stalls, she lifted the bag of apples onto Brego’s back and maneuvered the stallion to a mounting block, where she swung herself up, holding the bag steady. She spurred him forward and he acceded to her commands without any fuss. Through the deserted stable yard, down the winding ways of the Hornburg towards the gate, which was thankfully open. Were there no guards here either? How odd. Léofe hesitated briefly before the huge oaken doors, and then with a word from her, Brego began trotting energetically down the stone path to the muddy plains below. 


	11. Chapter 11

The novelty of spending her day riding Brego wore off quickly. A wind had risen from the north, and her clothing was proving small protection. She munched an apple unhappily as they continued onward. The wind evidently did not bother Brego for his pace did not slow. How well-trained and tireless he was!

By that night they had come to the outer reaches of a small wood that ran along the slopes of the mountains. Helm's Deep had long since faded from sight, and as far as she surmised, they were riding south. Since there was no home for her in Isenberg, and probably little but orc bands between here and there, Léofe had decided during the long ride to migrate to Stoneland in the south. From what she had heard in the markets of her childhood, they were far richer and she would have little trouble securing a position in some stable to work.

With no fire or means to make one, and certainly with no wish to be discovered by friend or foe, Léofe curled up close to Brego under a thicket of branches. Her stomach begged for something more substantial than an apple, but she gritted her teeth as Brego ate his share of victuals. The sky had long since darkened, and to her relief, the chill wind had faded. Though it was certainly cold enough - Brego's warmth would hopefully help her sleep.

Strange dreams came to her that night, and when the dawn came Léofe felt completely unrested. She tried to stand and cried out as her legs gave way. She cursed herself, long and loud, and it was only a reproachful whinny from Brego brought her about.

"I should have known," she grumbled, rubbing her trembling thighs. "Have I not lived around horses the entirety of my life? I should have known my legs would cramp after such a long ride!"

Brego had sprung to his feet already, sniffing around for grass and flicking his tail.

"Rest all you want," she informed him, crossing her arms in anger. "We shan't be going anywhere until I can lift myself onto your back." Her poor mood lasted the remainder of the day, increasing as she continued to try to force her body into doing her will. They must keep moving! Was it not the surest way to avoid detection?

Her hunger compounded with the disappearance of the last apples, and the wind picked up again, moaning and rushing through the trees to pierce her clothing. She shivered, watching through the bare branches above as the sun waltzed through the sky - oh so slowly. Miserable, she cursed herself again and again. Why had she been so stupid, running off to fend for herself, with no money and so close to winter?

When the sunset was finally drawing near, Léofe stood tenderly, leaning on Brego as she stretched her stiff and rather numb legs. They were somewhat better - she would be able to ride! Though it would be painful. The stallion was still grazed to fill his insatiable appetite, and once he was finished and Léofe had walked a slow lap around their clearing, she made ready to mount.

Brego's ears flicked and he shied away, suddenly neighing with such volume Léofe nearly toppled in her precarious state. "What is it?" She asked him, limping over and stroking his neck. "Are we in danger, my sweet?"

Abruptly his distress was explained, for not so far off Léofe heard shouting. She whipped her head around, looking this way and that - who was it? Thieves? Orcs? Murderers? Oh, why had she left the safe, secure fortress!

A gelding charged through the foliage, startling Léofe and causing Brego to start prancing and snorting at the new arrival. Before she had a chance to grow more terrified from this sudden appearance, the rider pulled on the reins, the gelding stopping in its tracks and a pair of familiar brown eyes, though unfamiliarly angry, stared down at her.

Brego was still agitated, but with a quick word from Théodred, he quieted down. There was no communication directed towards Léofe, and too frightened to speak herself, she cast her eyes down and wrung her skirt between her hands. The prince had dismounted and was checking Brego's legs, mouth, and ears in an efficient fashion. Even as he completed the inspection and was stroking the stallion's neck as the horse nipped at his owner's ear, another rider entered the glade on a broad shouldered mare.

"I found her," Théodred spoke first, his words sharp and chilled, and he still did not look at her. "Please ride out and inform the others. See that all return to the Hornburg at once."

"Sire," the rider saluted before wheeling his horse around and disappearing in an instant. Théodred produced a measure of rope from his saddlebags, and quickly secured Brego on a loose halter to the gelding's saddle.

"Come," Théodred said, holding his hand out to Léofe, but looking past her shoulder and into the trees.

Léofe swallowed. "No."

There was a tick in his cheek, and with a deep breath, his eyes finally gazed into her own. The sheer emotion in them - fear, rage, annoyance, offense - started her bottom lip trembling. She had not wanted to hurt him so, he was so very distressed, he would never love her now… There was really no use in resisting his command. Léofe imagined that if she held her ground, she would find herself slung over his saddle like a sack of grain. She stuck her chin in the air and pranced forward, accepting Théodred's help to mount the gelding. He mounted behind her, wrapping one solid arm around her waist while holding the reins loose in the opposite hand. And with no visible command, the gelding and Brego trotted from the clearing, heading east. Slowly at first - but as soon as they reached the open plain a half-mile out, the horses began to gallop.

Théodred's grip on her waist, with his armored arm, wore quickly on her tender muscles, and even before Helm's Deep came into sight she felt that her ribs had been rubbed to pieces and she would have a bruise that would never fade. Focusing on that pain and the continued throbbing from her legs brought a measure of relief from her tormenting thoughts. She did not want to think at all, but remembering the look in his eyes brought her a haunting guilt. To cause the one she loved such pain! Hindsight told her she should have left on foot, or stolen a different horse. Then she might have gotten away completely - or found death instead of this...shame.

The sun was beginning its descent on the western horizon. They would likely be at Helm's Deep for supper, and again she would have to sit in that stifling hall with those horrid people with their suspicious stares. If Théodred would loosen his grip, she could throw herself from the saddle. Perhaps a well-timed kick from one of the horses would bring her relief.

With no warning, Théodred reined in the horses from their gallop. Low hills surrounded them, covered in dying grass which concealed their party from the watchtower at the Hornburg. "We are a little over six miles away," Théodred said, his voice quiet after the pounding of the horses' hooves, but still it had an edge.

"Why are we stopping?" she asked.

"I am in no fit state for company. I would prefer to recover my temper before I must explain what has happened. Wormtongue's spies will be keen to report about the king's son chasing a peasant maiden up and down mountains."

"Then you should not have come!" Léofe snapped, and with a surge of anger, she thrust back her elbow into his ribs. She could not possibly have hurt him, but a grunt betrayed his surprise - and his grip slackened. She swung a leg over the side and tried to jump to the ground, though her descent was better described as a plummet. Bema, that horse was tall! She landed hard on her shoulder, and bit back a cry of pain. As if she would give him the satisfaction! Léofe pulled herself to her feet, and started limping back the way they had come as quickly as she could in her injured state.

"Oi! Don't you dare!" Théodred was late on the uptake, but he reacted quickly enough. She had not even passed the hills when he caught up with her, clenching her arm in his hand and trying to lead her back toward the horses.

She tried to pry his fingers away, but he was too strong. "Let go of me!"

"No!

"Yes! Do it! I understand completely, sire, your desire to be rid of me and I am trying to oblige you! Please let me be on my way - I will not intrude on your life any longer!" Her wrath, now unveiled, seemed all-consuming, and she wrenched herself away from him. A second hit for her - she had shocked him again. Bewilderment crossed his face, and he stopped pulling her arm, though he kept a firm hold.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked, and his expression changed as her words sunk in - his brows drawing together and a sneer threatening at his lips. "You presume much, Léofe. I would not mark many as bold enough to assign words and thoughts to their sovereign of whom they know so little."

"Perhaps if all the Rohirrim knew you were such a...a nincompoop they might speak up more!"

His hand jerked back as if her arm had burned him. "You cannot dare," he said, voice dangerously low as he bore down on her. Adrenaline coursed through her body, ready to run, but a magnetism kept her riveted to the spot. "To cause me such...such terror and then fault me as if I am the one that has done wrong. You have thought of only yourself."

"I left because I did not wish to bother you any longer, nor anyone that lives or works in the Burg. I am a nuisance to all, but I do not wish to be. You cannot accuse me of selfishness for that!"

"It is selfishness," Théodred muttered, and his hands gripped her arms, though not so painfully this time. "It is selfish because you gave no thought to my reaction to find you disappeared. Did you consider how I might feel, knowing that I somehow caused you such discomfort that you did not want to be near me any longer?"

His touch was wearing on her composure, frail as that was - and the way he was looking at her was sending her heart into a thudding mess. "Well - well, no," she stammered. "I supposed you would not care at all, whether I was here or there. I knew you would be upset to find Brego gone, but - you said I could ride him. That is what I would have told anyone who asked, anyway."

"I did not fear for Brego," he said. Somewhere in the conversation his voice had quieted, and now he spoke so softly and tenderly that his words were nearly dissipated by the breeze. "I feared for you."

"You needn't have," Léofe said, trying to separate herself from her physical response to Théodred being so close to her. If she had the brazenness, she could lift her hands to touch his chest, his face, his neck, his hair… "I am...not quite worthy of your concern, sire."

"You are worthy if I say you are worthy," he said. "And I do declare that you are worthy of all the care and concern that any prince of the Riddermark can conjure in his dismal heart!"

"Oh," she said, her voice faint and her knees suddenly wobbly.

"Oh, indeed."

He was smiling now, the sensual half-grin that sent her reeling in the best of times, and now combined with his words - her legs gave way, but Théodred caught her in his arms as she buckled. Their faces were now very close together. She could feel his warm breath on her cheeks, and she closed her eyes. She could not look at him! They were touching so intimately - too intimately, in fact, and the thought of what she might see in his eyes filled her with both a hunger and a fear of something she did not understand.

"Look at me, Léofe."

Reluctantly, though with an excitement that send tremors to her belly, she obeyed. What she had wanted to see in him, for so long - was there. She did not need to be a scholar to know from his expression that he cared for her, even possibly had fallen in love with her - and that he was enjoying holding her close very much. His gaze was tender, and a full smile had broken across his face, something she had not seen before but decided that she wanted to see again. Léofe suddenly felt confident, and she bit her bottom lip to keep her own smile from betraying her. "You may kiss me now, if you would like," she said.

"Oh, may I?" One of his eyebrows quirked. "That is very generous of you."

"Yes. You have my permission."

"You must know, Léofe, that this is the only time I will wait for it."

"And if you delay any longer I will retract my consent!"

His lips touched hers, ending the teasing, and her eyes fluttered shut. How exquisite this was! A blossoming of wholeness, of warmth and love was spreading through her body and sending the sensation of pure goodness into her every fiber of being. She regained her balance, stepping forward on her tiptoes so that she could reach him better, wrapping her arms around his neck to keep him close. His breath was sweet and warm; his hands gentle and loving. Nothing in Léofe's life had ever been as deliciously comforting and stimulating as this.

Théodred pulled away from her, breathing deeply. "I believe that I have been quite carried away," he murmured, eyes roving across her face. "And if I stand here any longer with you and your beautiful blushes, I fear my self-control will be crushed."

Léofe melted into his embrace, resting her head on his chest. She could hear his heartbeat even through the leather jerkin. "I do not want to return," she said. "I do not care if I'm being childish, but that place is so dark and confining!"

"Then consider it temporary. Dear heart, we must both do what is required of us for the time being, even if it is distasteful. I fear it will be more difficult than ever for me to leave on patrols!"

"I haven't a friend within twenty leagues, I truly do not wish - "

"Does it matter?"

"Yes, it does. I have not gained acceptance in the Deep, and I do not at all like feeling unwanted and discarded."

"You need not worry yourself over that any longer," Théodred said, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. "My aunt returned the same day as I, she will take you well in hand."

"Your - your aunt?"

"Indeed. Do not look so frightened! She is no dragon."

Could she trust his assurance? She had to. If she trusted him with her heart, she must trust him with her happiness as well. Léofe took a deep breath, and reluctantly released her hold on Théodred. "I will return. But only for you."

"Then let us depart at once. I have been unable to eat since you disappeared, and I suddenly find my appetite quite returned!"

.

.

She kept her head held high as they entered through the gate into the dining hall in the Deep. There were many stares, and even without romanticizing the situation, Léofe thought the noise and chatter died down as Théodred entered behind her. Not much had changed in the last days, then.

In the growing silence, a scraping sound broke through, and a dark-haired lady sitting next to Erkenbrand rose, looking decidedly anxious as she stood to call out. "Why did you not send word you were returning, Théodred? We could have been prepared to take care of the chit!"

"I am sorry, Aunt," the prince replied with a suitable amount of deference. "I sent my escort to round up the rest of the searchers, and Léofe and I made haste to the Deep."

"Humph!" The lady, who was obviously both Erkenbrand's wife and Théodred's aunt - the same lady who had been absent for the past weeks, strode down the long tables with purpose. With the most public of the exchange over, the soldiers turned back to their meals and their conversations. And so there was a comforting hum that kept the next bit private.

"I truly am sorry, Aunt," Théodred repeated, and if Léofe was not mistaken, he almost seemed to shrink at the annoyance of the smaller woman. "But the circumstances did not permit -"

"Damn the circumstances." The lady took Léofe's hand, ignoring her nephew, and peered into her eyes with interest. "I must apologize for my absence of late," she said, and to Léofe's surprise, the words were genuine. "I was in Snowbourne, as dear friend gave birth not a month past."

"Ermhild did say that you were detained on a personal matter," Léofe said.

"Yes, I imagine she did," the lady said. "Ermhild had her uses, but genuine hospitality is not one of them. I apologize for her ill-treatment of you."

Relief washed over Léofe with a warming tingle, and she wasn't quite sure if she wanted to laugh or cry. "Thank you, my lady," she said, voice trembling.

The lady tsked. "I forbid you from calling me such a ridiculous title. I am Alfrida to my friends; I am Alfrida to you."

"And Alfie to her family. Ouch!" Théodred received a smack on the back of the head nearly as quick as his jibe had been given, the older lady's arm reaching the distance easily as if the punishment had been dealt before. Yes, Léofe quite liked Alfrida, and she smiled.

"Thank you for your welcome," Léofe said. "And I would be most grateful if I might retire straightaway. I am exhausted!"

"Of course! I will show you to your rooms - guest rooms, of course, and I will have a meal brought up. No need to lift a finger on your part!" Immediately Alfrida guided Léofe towards the back doors, which led to the private family quarters. She looked over her shoulder, and saw that Théodred was hiding a smile. He winked at her - a rather bold move, she thought, and she was whisked around a corner.


	12. Chapter 12

Alfrida was true to her word, and Léofe began to feel that she was being treated like a princess. She was given a new room with a large bed and a huge fireplace. Then there was a deliciously warm bath, for which Alfrida had played maid and helped to wash the dirt from Léofe’s sore body with scented soap. A tray with bread and soup had been brought in the meantime, and while she ate by the fire, newly dressed in a clean nightgown and heavy dressing gown, Alfrida combed her wet hair and chatted. The combination of food, warmth, and physical touch sank a contentment deep into Léofe’s bones, and she found herself relaxing despite continued apprehension of being alone with Théodred’s aunt.

 

“Your hair truly is a spectacular color,” Alfrida said, drawing the comb through the tangled ends. “I have never seen the like. Most Rohirric women have very light hair, but yours reminds me of the apricots we receive from Gondor.”

 

“My father always said it is the same shade as my mother’s,” Léofe said, after a moment of shy hesitation. “It was known that she had an ancestor from the south, beyond the mountains, who had darker hair.”

 

“It is a beautiful combination; light and dark, whatever the cause.” The lady quieted for a moment, the crackling fire filling Léofe’s ears. “My dear - may I speak to you upon a personal matter?”   
  


“Yes, of course,” she said, startled from her reverie. 

 

“Ermhild has defended her treatment of you as reasonable. I rather think it was demeaning! But I feel that I must tell you that she is driven by jealousy.”

 

“Jealousy!” Léofe cried. “That my father was butchered and my home destroyed by filthy monsters?”

 

“I do not justify her,” Alfrida continued. “Ermhild is jealous because of the prince’s attentions towards you. She has had tender feelings for him for at least fifteen years, and now despairs. He does not return her attentions, so she has unleashed her bitterness on you.”

 

And what would Alfrida say if she knew that Théodred had kissed Léofe? And what might Ermhild say - or do? A uncontrolled giggle nearly broke through her lips. 

 

“Would you find it in your heart to forgive her, perchance?”

 

“I shall consider it,” Léofe said. “But to be truthful, her condescension is part of the reason I ran away. She has made me feel quite unwanted. And I am not adept at forgiveness.”

 

“Ah. I understand. I shall speak to her of her appalling manners. What a dolt that girl can be!”

 

Léofe’s glee faded, leaving only a knot in her stomach. “She has only acted from her heart,” she said. “Any woman may become wrathful when a man is involved.”

 

“True enough,” Alfrida chuckled. “Now, would you like me to braid your hair?”

 

“Oh, you needn’t,” Léofe said. “Thank you for your kindness. It has comforted me greatly.”

 

Alfrida was smiling as she picked up the tray to leave. “I do have a soft spot for anyone in distress. The staff are at your disposal, and if you are in need of anything else, do not hesitate to let them or I know. Good night!” The door behind her shut with a bang, and Léofe sunk deeper into the upholstered chair, closing her eyes to briefly enjoy the simplicity of being comfortable.

 

She yawned, standing to stretch before shaking out the hair from her head with her fingers. It was still quite damp, and she braided it back into her customary twin braids. The bed was looking deliciously inviting, and she took a quick turn around the room to blow out the candles before she pulled back the covers.

 

A quiet click of stone upon stone sounded outside the heavily curtained window, and she paused. It came again, and again - and suddenly something hit the drapes, and a small rock clattered to the floor beneath the folds. Léofe picked it up, both curious and confused, and pulled back the curtains slightly to peer out. 

 

Moonlight was shining on Théodred’s upturned face, and when he saw her, his face broke into a wide grin. “I thought Alfie would never leave,” he called, though not too loudly. 

 

“Why are you throwing rocks at me!” Léofe said, despite her pleasure at seeing him. 

 

“I had to see you.”

 

Her stomach was turning most pleasantly, but unwilling to give in, she drew back her hand with the stone and threw it straight towards him. 

 

“Ow!” He dropped his remaining rocks, rubbing his forearm and glaring at her. 

 

“Serves you right. A prince should know better than to pester ladies who are on the verge of sleep.”

 

“Minx!”

 

“Call me what you like,” Léofe said superiorly. 

 

“Temptress!”

 

“I do not claim to know very much about propriety, but that seems to be a term that should not be used to refer to a  _ lady _ .”

 

“You are not a lady yet,” Théodred said, his humor unabated. “You are still Brego’s mistress, by all rights I may order you around. Come down!”

 

“Certainly not!”

 

“And why do you hesitate?”

 

“We would be seen,” she hissed. “And it is improper.”

 

“I kissed you this afternoon, and that was certainly improper. Why are you so fussed now?” He was challenging her, and she bit back a squeal of frustration. Of course she had to join him now!

 

“Step back,” she ordered.

 

“What?”

 

“I am going to jump. It is not very far.”

 

“No!” His cry fell on deaf ears, but fortunately he was quick enough that he was able to rush forwards and catch her before she hit the hard stone. 

 

“Oh!” She said, suddenly feeling shy in his arms, and rather affected by his fresh manly smell. He had bathed, too. 

 

“Léofe,” he said, his eyes sweeping across her face, and she felt herself melting.

  
“Y-yes?”

 

“Your stockings are showing.”

 

Mildly disappointed that no sweet words of affection were forthcoming, she kicked down her skirt so that she was modestly covered. Théodred then carried her, with no apparent exertion, ducking in shadows and quietly walking until they came to an abandoned watchtower, and he climbed the stairs easily before he set her down gently.

 

They sat together facing the open plain, with no intrusion apart from the bright stars above. Léofe situated herself between Théodred’s legs, and he wrapped one arm around her shoulders, while with his opposite hand he stroked the back of her hand with his calloused thumb. Despite the roughness, the gesture was gentle and full of compassion. She leaned back until her head rested on his shoulder, and she could feel the skin of neck on her cheek. A pulse throbbed there; a beat of love and longing that could have torn her apart. 

 

“My honesty compels me to tell you, Léofe, that I thought that I would never find a woman to whom I could give my heart.”

 

“I did not believe that you could ever love one as I,” she murmured, seeking reassurance even as he held her tighter. “You are a prince of thousands, and yet you sought a plain maid. I still cannot believe it.”

 

His lips curled into a smile. “I hope you will be convinced soon. I wish to wed you as soon as my father is well again.”

 

“And am I to have no say in the matter?”

 

“I hold your heart as assuredly as you hold mine; when I look into your eyes I know that our souls will be bound. When that happens matters not, but I imagine that you are as eager as I.”

 

“Of course!” she interjected. “But there is the principle of the thing -”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Well - if we were to marry too quickly, there would be those who would say that I blackmailed you, or seduced you - or became pregnant with your child -”

 

“You may cease your thoughts there,” Théodred said. “I am happy to comply with your wishes. But I have never known you to care for the regard of others.”

 

Shame - a disgusting feeling to invade their shared moment - filled her. “I do care, Théodred. There was an incident, when I was younger,” she murmured, closing her eyes against his skin. “I was in the village with my father, and a group of children teased me. They said that my dress was too short, and my legs as skinny as freshwater reeds. They said -” she faltered, taking time to rub a loose thread from the hem of her shirt between two fingers.

 

“Go on. I am listening.”

 

“They said that my marriage bed would be haystack and my dress a stained saddle blanket.”

 

He squeezed her hand tightly, though it was his sharp intake of breath that betrayed his rising anger. “Pardon my temper,” he said, barely retaining his serenity. “But darling, how I wish I could have protected you!”

 

“It is nothing, really,” Léofe said. “Everyone has something in their past that still stings. I do not think of it, most days. I have recovered, for the most part.”

 

He pressed a kiss onto her temple, and she smiled. To be loved, was the greatest thing that she had experienced in her life. “I shall protect you evermore,” he said. “I swear it.”

 

“And I shall  _ be _ protected. I’ll be damned if I ever ignore your advice again!”

 

“I am very glad to hear that,” Théodred chuckled, his warm breath caressing her cheek, making her shiver. “For my advice rarely goes awry.”

 

Léofe lowered her eyes. "I am sorry I stole Brego."

 

“You are quite forgiven. Think no more of it.”

 

She shifted her weight, turning to face him properly. “Will you kiss me again?” she asked, feeling at once demure and bold. 

 

Théodred smiled down at her. “I was hoping that you would ask.”

 

.

 

.

 

Léofe yawned, stretching her arms above her head before collapsing back into a sleepy trance. That night had been the very best rest she had ever experienced. For the first time since the attack, she had not been driven mad by images of her destroyed home, or her papa’s mutilated body. Only Théodred - his delicious half-smile, the taste of his lips, the warmth of his body - had been in her mind. Even though sunlight was streaming through the curtains, she was not quite ready to face reality. 

 

But reality had other plans. A brisk knock at the door, and Alfrida strode in, carrying a green bundle and following by a maid with a breakfast tray. 

 

“I have been waiting for you to wake for hours already,” Alfrida said, draping the bundle over a chair. “But I cannot wait any longer! And if you continue to sleep, you will not be able to find rest tonight.”

 

“Why - what time is it?” Léofe asked in surprise. 

 

“The men are eating luncheon in the hall.”

 

“Oh!” 

 

“Exactly,” Alfrida said with a grim smile. “I am impatient, and for your own health you must rise at once.”

 

“What on earth are you impatient for?” Léofe had sat up and was now watching, bemused, as the maid began pouring tea.  _ She was to be wait upon? Like a lady? _

 

“I found a new dress for you,” the older woman replied, gesturing towards the bundle. “Théodred mentioned that you had no decent clothing to your name. This gown was mine when I was younger, when I was a little leaner and far more inclined towards making an impression. It will look lovely on you! Now hurry on!”

 

The maid helped Léofe to undress (another odd privilege, which she was not quite sure she deserved), and new undergarments were produced as well. Fresh, unstained bloomers, a corset so new that it creaked when it was laced, knit stockings and a creamy white shift. Léofe almost gasped aloud as the gown positively floated down her body.

 

“Velvet,” Alfrida said, watching in amusement as Léofe ran her fingers along the sleeves. “It suits you.”

 

Whether it suited her or not, Léofe loved the dark green color. It reminded her of Théodred; it was probably a very close match to the color of his cloak. There was gold embroidery around the neckline, as well as a matching belt. Never before had Léofe even dreamed of something so beautiful, and when Alfrida held out a pair of half-boots, she almost began to cry. The boots did not have a single patch!

 

“There, now,” Alfrida said, kneeling down to lace the boots while Léofe stared in amazement and bafflement. “It is nothing to cry about!”

 

“Thank you,” Léofe whispered. “I am - completely overwhelmed. I do not believe I deserve such generous treatment!”

 

“You certainly deserve to be properly clad. I, for one, admire the incredible perseverance you have shown. I know Théodred thinks highly of you as well.”

 

Léofe sniffed and sat up, unplaiting and replaiting her hair deftly. She noticed a sly smile growing on Alfrida’s face, and she suddenly grew self-conscious. “What is it?” she asked, tying off her braids. 

 

“What say you skip breakfast, and seek repast in the hall instead?” Now her expression looked positively gleeful. “For purely selfish reasons, of course. I mean to show you off!”

 

.

 

.

 

Léofe gripped Alfrida’s arm with no small amount of anxiety. From the noises coming from the hall, everybody was still in the throes of the noon meal. She should have refused Alfrida’s offer, Léofe thought dimly, for now her stomach was too knotted to eat. 

 

They entered through the side door, which led directly to the dias. Léofe tried to dig her heels in at the sight of so many people, but Alfrida was unreasonably strong, and so they continued forward. Her heartbeat began to quicken, and with a bit of fear, she saw the faces at the head table come into view. 

 

Théodred’s eyes locked with hers. They widened, and a crust of bread fell from his limp hand. There was a scraping of wood against stone, and she saw Erkenbrand and Théodred both stand, in very good form, as the women ascended. 

 

“I was wondering if you might attend,” Erkenbrand boomed, taking Alfrida’s arm and planting a loud kiss on her cheek. “And who is this pretty creature?” 

 

Léofe blushed as Alfrida laughed. “Do not be such a lout, Erk! You are making her squirm.”

 

But Léofe’s eyes were drawn towards her prince, who was smiling ever so slightly at her as he held out a hand. She placed her clammy fingers on his, and he lifted them to his lips. “Sit by me,” he said, phrasing it as a demand rather than a request.

 

“Tyrant,” she murmured.

 

“Minx.”

 

He pushed in her chair as she sat, looking completely relaxed. It was a good ruse, she thought. No one seemed to have noticed the heat in their exchange, though she certainly had. And by the clenched fist in Théodred’s lap, he probably had felt it, too. 

 

“The ham is quite delicious,” he said, leaning over to pour wine into a goblet. “And of course, I do recommend that you help yourself to the mushrooms before Erkenbrand devours them all.”

 

“Eh? What was that?” Erkenbrand turned towards them and frowned. “No, missy, the mushrooms are far too rich for you. Leave them for me; I shall spare you the indigestion.”

 

“Erk!” Alfrida was wearing an aghast expression. “Let Léofe have mushrooms if she so desires! Honestly, to wheedle guests out of their own food! That is low, even for your insatiable appetite.”

 

Léofe was struggling to contain a giggle, and at a look from Théodred - who appeared to be in similar straights, glanced quickly down. 

 

“You really must eat,” she heard Théodred say, though he was not looking her way. “As...becoming as your dress is, it could certainly stand to be filled out a bit better. Have you not been eating?”

 

“Not really,” she said, awkwardly lifting a slice of ham from the platter in front of her. “I have not been particularly hungry of late.”

 

Apart from ham, there was also sour bread, fried apples and onions, and a ripe cheese. Léofe enjoyed every bite, but more so the cheerful hall. Several days ago it had been hellish; now, and likely because of Alfrida’s presence, it was positively wonderful. She cast glances towards Théodred as often as dared, and every so often her cheeks would burn, and she knew he was looking at her too. 

 

Erkenbrand stood at the end of the meal, and at once there was a huge clamor as the Riders stood and began to shuffle out. Léofe lept to her feet as well, watching awkwardly as she realized that Alfrida remained in her seat. 

 

“Léofe.”

 

She turned towards Théodred, who was staring down at her with an expression she did not recognize.

 

“I realize that you may not have been shown around the Keep,” he said. “Might I do you the privilege?”

 

“Of course,” she said, trying to keep from flushing. She rather thought she failed. “Unless Alfrida had another use for me this afternoon.”

 

“That I doubt,” Théodred said, motioning for her to walk beside him as they stepped from the dias. “Alfie can be particular, but not nearly to  _ that  _ degree. Anyway, I wished to show you the vista from the horn of Helm Hammerhand. You know the tale, do you not?” 

 

Léofe certainly did, but happily listened to his wonderful voice as he briefly recounted the terrible Long Winter and Helm’s steadfast defense of his beloved land against the Dunlendings. She noticed no small amount of pride in Théodred’s words. It was obvious he held the Riddermark in as much regard, and she squeezed his hand with a smile as he helped her to mount the steps.

 

“It is breathtaking!” 

 

“Indeed,” he said, amused as she leaned over the parapet. If she ignored the stones around her, she almost felt as if she were flying; that the expanse of grass and fields below her were close enough to touch. The wind was clean and brisk, and she breathed deeply. She thought she could smell fresh harvested wheat in the air, and it reminded her of home. “As much as I did truly wish to show you the view,” she heard Théodred say, and she felt his hand wrap around her waist, pulling her to face him. “I would rather your attention focused on me for the time being.” 

 

Léofe had no time to form a retort before his lips pressed to hers. 


	13. Chapter 13

Instinct took over, and she willingly pressed herself to him, rather excited that he was not wearing armor. She could feel his hard chest, his sinewy arms, the soft skin on his neck. She could have remained in that wonderful position for the remainder of the day and not noticed, but with great regret she felt Théodred pull away, and she opened her eyes to see his rueful smile.

"I could not help myself," he said. "Your frock becomes you greatly, and I suppose I am prone to be affected by, er, a little fanciness."

"I am glad to know that," Léofe said. "I shall happily manipulate you as often as I can."

He hugged her tight to his chest, and she breathed in his special scent — cedar and sage, she thought it was, as she peered out to the valley below. "There is something particular I wished to discuss with you. A tender subject, I am afraid," he said, and with trepidation she heard solemnity in his voice. Her heart thudded painfully, and she looked up to his eyes. "You are not entirely safe here," he murmured, and she felt his fingers begin to caress her neck. It was hugely distracting, and she had to force herself to listen. "There are...men, who have been plotting my demise for some time now, and I do not doubt that they will seek to hurt me in any way possible. That does, of course, include you. In fact, it ought to make you their prime target, but I would rather that they do not find out about our attachment."

"I knew it would be dangerous," Léofe said, trying to put the goose pimples crawling across her skin to the back of her mind, for recollection later. "And I thought that we might have to be a secret. That is what I am to you: a secret. The last time you came to my home, you mentioned that you brought Erkenbrand, not for his scouting prowess but because you trust him. I only understand that now, I could not quite comprehend why at the time. But you...want to protect me."

"Clever girl," she felt a deep chuckle in his chest. "And quite right, too. But," here he paused again. "To ensure your safety, I am afraid we must take rather drastic measures."

"Oh?"

"Well," Théodred was certainly frowning now, and Léofe felt a distancing between them. "Spending very much time with you would of course put you in an undesirable position. There are few enough times that I treat anybody favorably, especially one so defenseless - "

Léofe scowled.

"But that is only part of it. When I return from patrols, you must not run to greet me, or indeed greet me publicly."

"So it must appear that you do not know that I exist, at all." It felt that with each sentence, her heart severed even more. Such happiness, to be brought so low!

Théodred's face relaxed, and his lovely half-smile appeared. "You often assume the worst, do you realize that about yourself? It is so odd!"

"Then explain why I ought not to assume the worst."

"It is common knowledge that we are acquainted. You did ride with me to the Deep. Twice, even. We may have a polite acquaintance. But we should not let our relationship develop any further in the eyes of others. Any friendly relationship is a target."

Léofe extracted herself from his embrace, resting her elbows on the parapet to watch the commotion in the courtyard below. "If I were you," she said. "I would send all those that seek treason to the noose."

"It is not so simple," he said quietly, staying where he was, out of sight from the people below. "The man that controls these spies has made it impossible for me to relieve anyone of duties outside of my father's command. Since this man also controls my father - " Bitterness crept into his voice. "He would immediately reject any requests to send the spies away."

"How unfair!"

"Yes. But there is little to be done; Bema knows I have been trying to help my father see reason for months."

Léofe turned back to Théodred, who was standing with his arms crossed and his brow furrowed. She hardly knew him at all, she realized. His heart ached, just as hers did, and he was powerless against it, just as she was. "I am terribly sorry," she said, digging the heel of her boot into the stone. "I wish - I wish there was something I could do."

"Léofe," his voice was warm, and she felt her cheeks begin to flush at his tone. "I need you to be safe, but I also require you to accept that I cannot court you properly, though I may try."

"I suppose I can do that," she said. "But I would rather shout my love - "

"Do not!" Théodred said quickly, and then he began to laugh. "I would not expect anything less of you, dear heart, but you really must not!"

"Very well," she lifted her nose, pretending to be miffed, but her prince's easy smile made her smile, too.

"I should return you to Alfrida," he said, sobering as he drew her in for a final embrace. She acceded, trying to feel every inch of him that touched every inch of her, so that she could remember later.

.

.

The kitchens were bustling, so overwhelming Léofe with noise and bodies that she did not feel Théodred squeeze her hand before he disappeared. She did hear her name called across the din, and Alfrida's cheery face appeared between a couple maids.

"Come over!"

Apprehensive in this unfamiliar environment, Léofe did as she was bid. She was surprised to see the lady of the Keep with her sleeves rolled up and elbow deep in flour, kneading a massive ball of dough.

"Can you make bread?" Alfrida asked.

"Of course!" Léofe tried to disguise her affront but did not think she succeeded. Alfrida did not comment on her tone, fortunately.

"Good. Choose an apron. Mix up another batch in that bucket there — that's a good girl. While you're working, you can tell me about your father and your farm."

Léofe's first thought was that she was being tested; however as she went on the difficulty lay in keeping up an appropriate narrative while she was trying to make dough in a kitchen she was unfamiliar with. But she thought she did well enough, for Alfrida listened attentively while Léofe mixed and kneaded as she spoke of her former life. Because of the kindness the lady had shown her, Léofe felt no inhibition speaking frankly of their poverty and hardships. She tried not to imagine eavesdropping scullery maids around her.

"Erk mentioned to me long ago of the quality of training he witnessed at your father's farm," Alfrida said when Léofe paused. "I ought to have purchased a horse from you long ago. I am afraid I'm a mediocre horsewoman, but I find a well-trained steed useful enough. My mare was put out to pasture several years ago, and I have not chosen another."

"If you would like, I can train a horse for you sometime," she offered, feeling a bit shy. "My home may be gone, but I am still fully capable of my work."

Alfrida smiled. "I am sure you are. I will take you up on that offer, the next time horse traders come through. It may be quite some time; the trading caravans have been few and far between."

"Because of the war?"

"What do you know of the war?"

Alfrida's question was sharply put, and Léofe wondered if perhaps she was not supposed to know. "Théodred - that is - the prince, spoke to me of the war many weeks ago. I did not believe him until my father spotted an orc band rushing towards us from over the river."

"Théodred told you?" Alfrida said, eyeing her. "Hmm. Now there is one part of your narrative with which I am unfamiliar. How did you escape the orcs?"

"After Théodred warned us of impending invasion, my father had me to dig out an old barrow near our farm to which we could escape if any threat were to come." Léofe paused. "However, when the threat did come, it was too late for him to go to the barrow. He had a dead leg, and so he told me to go alone."

"I am sorry about your father. He sounds like a good man."

"He was a great man. I miss him everyday."

Alfrida reached over and scooped Léofe's dough into her own, working them together with deft strength. "We will allow these to rise for now. We must search the garden for the last of the beets."

Léofe enjoyed digging in the Hornburg's single remaining garden, which lay within a secluded courtyard just off the kitchen. Alfrida explained as they dug, "We used to have several other crops outside the Deeping Wall as well, but with the extra soldiers coming in and out, they were trampled. I have not been able to refresh the soil enough to grow anything. I am not very skilled in raising food - how I wish Brondwyn were still alive!"

"Who is Brondwyn?" Léofe asked, yanking up a particular large beet and showering herself with cool dirt.

"She was housekeeper before me," Alfrida said, and then she grinned. "She was lousy at running the Keep, I am sorry to say, but she had a way with plants. She would know what to do with dead soil!"

"Do you not use manure?"

"When we can," Alfrida brushed stray hair from her face with her arm, leaving behind a streak of mud. "Unfortunately we must use what manure is available for fuel as well; coal traders from Gondor have not come this far north in several years."

"But what of lumber? There are many forests nearby!"

"We cannot use too many trees at once. The land must be allowed to replenish itself. Besides, stray wildmen haunt the local forests. It is too dangerous to venture very far from the Keep."

Léofe remembered the little copse she had taken refuge in after running away. She had been terribly fortunate to not come across any of the enemy, if the danger was so prevalent. She shuddered.

Once there were no more beets left in the garden, the two women carried the large basket containing their haul back to the kitchen, where Alfrida ordered two maids to take the beets into the cave to store them for the winter. Then it was time to shape the bread dough into loaves. Léofe was surprised that the afternoon had passed so quickly: since coming to the Deep, time had crawled by unbearably in her misery. What a difference it made to not be alone! She wondered where Théodred was, and what he was doing. When could she see him again?

"You are blushing." Alfrida's dry tone made Léofe's head snap up, and unless she was mistaken her cheeks burned more.

"I-I was just thinking," Léofe said.

"About what?"

"Nothing."

The lady did not seem convinced.

"I say," Léofe invented quickly. "I would like to hear your story, if you are willing, now that you have heard mine."

"My story?" The graceless inquiry surprised Alfrida, who paused as she was placing loaves into the great brick oven with a long paddle.

"Indeed. I am most curious as to how two characters such as yourself and Erkenbrand could ever marry."

Alfrida laughed, and after all the bread was baking, she led Léofe from the room. "I think we have earned a rest before supper," she said. "There is a pleasant solar not far from here which faces west. Oh, wait a moment - Hilgund!" This was called back into the kitchen, and a busty woman turned towards them from the wash basins. "Do not let the bread burn!"

The solar was most pleasant; the setting sun blazed in through a sizeable window and warmed the upholstered chairs in which they sat. Despite sleeping until noon, Léofe felt herself relaxing. But she kept herself alert, for Alfrida was inclined to obliging her request.

"It was Théodred who bears responsibility for introducing Erk and I," the lady began. At the name of her beloved, Léofe's heart leaped. She tried to control her blush, but Alfrida did not seem to notice as she continued, "I was living in Middale at the time, not far from here. Théodred and I would visit each other often. We have always been close, due to the scant difference in our ages. Certainly I have always liked him better than my brother - his father - who is twenty-two years my senior. But I digress," she said hastily. "I apologize. Théodred came to my house to celebrate Midsummer that year. He brought Erk with him," Alfrida grinned, catching Léofe's eye. "Erk's sister had recently died and he was to spend the holiday alone. Théodred had a soft heart, even as a youth."

Léofe smiled dreamily.

"But I was very upset to see that Théodred had spoiled our holiday by bringing a stranger - a rude stranger! I took an instant dislike to Erkenbrand."

"Really!"

"Truly," Alfrida nodded. "Never a more overbearing man had I ever met, nor one so large in stature. I nearly had a heart attack when he stepped through the door." Léofe had to bite her lips to keep from bursting into laughter, but when she saw the lady's eyes twinkling, let out a giggle. Alfrida continued, "But Erk loved me from that very moment; he has always said that my haughty manner had him head over heels in a matter of seconds."

The telling of the courtship lasted some time, but Léofe was so absorbed that it felt like no time at all. Alfrida was very talented at reciting the colorful story, and Léofe was nearly in tears from laughing. It had been a very long time since she had laughed so freely; weeks of loneliness and worry were facing to be replaced by wholesome friendship and love. Léofe liked Alfrida very much already, and she hoped with all her heart that she could earn the lady's good will soon.

When she saw Erkenbrand at supper that evening, Léofe found that she could not quite look at him the same. As frightening as his size and volume were, there was no malice behind it. And again - she could not help from giggling when the large man wiped dirt from Alfrida's face with a handkerchief before kissing her soundly in the middle of a crowded corridor.

"May I escort you in?" Théodred's low voice sent a shiver across her skin, and Léofe took his arm with a smile.

"I thought that we were to be cautious," she said, allowing him to navigate her through the crush of bodies and into the hall.

He shrugged, most un-princelike. "I am a mere mortal man," he said. "Surely I cannot be expected to be entirely cold to my -" The rest of his words were undecipherable, for the clamor in the hall was deafening. Léofe entertained the idea of what he had meant to say: his love? His sweet? Yes, she liked both of those.

It was a pleasant supper, in the company of the few people that Léofe could consider to be her friends. Never before had she felt accepted by anyone apart from her father, even her relatives in Isenburg had not been particularly warm. She decided over pudding that she could probably live in and perhaps love the Hornburg, if she could often feel so kindly within its walls. And if Théodred and Brego were with her, of course.

Léofe slept soundly that night, her happy feelings lingering.

.

.

The same happy feelings were dissipating by noon the following day. Not having been informed of the prince's imminent departure, Léofe had only found out the fact when she crossed the courtyard before luncheon and saw Théodred armored and Brego saddled, with the rest of the éored falling in.

Studiously ignoring Théodred, as she wished he had warned her that he was leaving, Léofe stopped to scratch Brego's chin, murmuring nonsense to her old friend and kissing his nose.

"I never imagined that I would one day find myself jealous of my steed," Théodred said, his voice low as he made final adjustments to the saddle.

Léofe felt herself turn pink. "Out of the two of you, Brego is the only one I am allowed to kiss while others are watching," she said. "And that was your own decision, sire."

He laughed. "Then you are dealing my just punishment!"

She ran her fingers down Brego's neck as her eyes blurred, rubbing his fur and trying to keep tears from spilling. It was not fair, that so soon after finding her place in Théodred's arms he had to depart. She turned her face as he peered at her across the horse's back. "I did not know you were leaving so soon!" Léofe said, her voice strangling in her throat.

"I have lingered too long already," he said with a smile. "And the fault for that cannot be placed on my shoulders alone."

Léofe eyed him. "Are you trying to make me feel guilty?"

"Is it working?"

"Not at all!"

At once a horn blasted from nearby, and Léofe jumped. Théodred's features had taken on a stern, stonelike quality, and she bit her lip. "Farewell," she said, and she turned to rush into the hall before she was trampled by the mass of soldiers. If he replied, it was lost in the wind.


	14. Chapter 14

With Alfrida's unlooked-for friendship and the secret of Théodred's love tucked close to her heart, Léofe felt herself shedding weeks of misery and torment. More than weeks: even involved in the upkeep of the Hornburg from dawn until dark she still felt happier than she had for years, likely since her mama died. She fell, exhausted, into her bed each night smiling, and nightmares did not surround her.

One morning Léofe woke shivering, the heavy quilt on her bed providing little protection from a chill wind that hummed through the glass window in her bedchamber. She wrapped herself in the quilt anyway, walking to the window; nearly freezing off her toes in the process. It was not yet dawn, but it was greyer than normal, and flurries pressed against the glass briefly before melting. Léofe shuddered, and drew the heavy drapes across the window to shut out the wind better. She hopped back to her bed, trying to snuggle in to warm herself before her day began.

Alfrida later explained to her that the absence of snow, despite the approach of Yuletide, was causing much fear among those who had lived in the valley for many generations. Such disruptions of weather foretold the same disasters: famine, pestilence, and war. "Hardships cycle through the same pattern," the lady said. They were strolling along the Deeping Wall partly for the exercise, and partly to keep warm. "The year before I came to Helm's Deep, many young people died of a terrible plague. The elderly residents of the nearby villages are claiming impending war."

Léofe was keeping her arms crossed under her cloak, trying to keep the warmth close to her body. The idea of taking a walk to keep themselves warm seemed foolish now; she was sure she was colder now than she had been in the library, and being cold made her irritable. "Anyone with half a brain could predict war," she said. "Do these elders also know the victor?"

Alfrida pressed her lips together, trying not to smile. "Perhaps the weather does. Come, let us return to the indoors! Even copying the accounts cannot be as miserable as this! I am sure this is the coldest morning I have ever felt. How I wish Erk was here!"

Léofe's thoughts drifted to Théodred, who was at the mercy of the frigid cold on his patrol. He must be downright miserable, and she did not like that one bit. "A thought came to me," she said to Alfrida as they passed through the entrance into the living quarters. "The enemy attacks from the north, am I correct in guessing? Why is it that they campaign in the winter? Are they not affected by the weather?"

"They do attack from the north; as to your second question, it does indeed seem counterintuitive that they attack in all seasons. I suspect that the orcs " — Alfrida grimaced at the word — "Are either unaffected by chill, or are bewitched by some sorcery, or do as they are commanded regardless of their comfort. Those my guesses, based on what Erk has told me."

They sat together at a table close to the fire, which crackled cheerlessly. It did not seem to be helping the temperature at all. Here Léofe felt useless, but Alfrida had asked her assistance and so she had agreed. "I am hopeless at sums," Léofe said. "You would be better off asking another for help."

Alfrida glanced up. "Perhaps. But I promised Théodred I would keep an eye on you, and so I shall. Until I decide otherwise, that is. He thinks he has much more sway over my actions than he actually does."

Léofe frowned. "That is very high-handed of him."

"He is the way he is."

She considered for several moments to what extent she was offended by Théodred ordering his aunt to be her friend. It was flattering, but remarkably blind to either woman's feelings. He ought to be set straight. But Léofe tucked that thought away for later: she valued the lady's companionship too much to look too deeply into it. She stared into the fire, listening to the scratching of Alfrida's quill as she made marks in the accounts book. "Will you teach me to read?" Léofe blurted.

The scratching paused, and Alfrida looked up from her work, pondering. She was silent for a long moment, and Léofe thought that maybe she should have phrased her request more kindly. "Yes," the lady said at last. "I will."

"Thank you," Léofe said, feeling suddenly felt shyer than she had in a long time.

.

.

Léofe woke suddenly, blinking in the pitch black and wondering why her heart was hammering so. Dawn was still far off, and as she listened she heard nothing out of the ordinary. What had woken her?

"Léofe!" A hushed whisper from near the fireplace - and she nearly jumped from her skin. A poker scraped against the stone, and the orange glow of a fire began to flare from the smouldering embers, revealing the face of the intruder in a warm light.

"Théodred!" she hissed, sitting up and pulling the quilt to her neck. "What are you doing here? You are not due back until tomorrow!"

"We are only a half-day early. We had to cut the patrol short. There was…" His voice trailed off, and there was the sound of footsteps, and her bed sunk at her knees, where Théodred sat.

"What is it?" she asked, keeping her voice low. "And what possibly could have possessed you to come here? You could have been seen!"

"I had to see you," His voice was so faint she had to strain to hear. "We were attacked at dusk and lost over twenty men. We had not the strength to complete the patrol, so we returned early to replenish."

"Oh, no," Léofe murmured, her pulse still skittering from the fright; though with Théodred so near it was unlikely that she would be able to calm herself. "I am sorry for the loss. Was it very bad?"

"It was quite bad. One of the worst skirmishes I have been in," His trembling hand was roving over the quilt, searching for hers, and Léofe placed her hand on top of his, which he held it tightly. "It had been raining for days, and so we were stuck in the mud, and it was so dark — our scouts had their throats slit. There was no warning. The few of us to escape were lucky to do so," he paused briefly, his eyes lowered. "Allred was one of the scouts." His voice wavered heavily as he spoke. A lump formed in her throat. Allred dead! His poor family. Théodred dragged his gaze to meet hers, and she saw unshed tears.

"Why...why, Théodred!"

"Dear heart, I do not wish to be selfish, but I n-need you, so very b-badly."

Léofe lifted her arms to him, the quilt falling into her lap, and Théodred clung to her in a desperate embrace, his body shaking. How he had been able to hold himself together thus far was a mystery to her. She ran her fingers through his tangled hair, separating the knots as she crooned to him as she had often seen mothers do. His own hands were like vices on her back, and there they stayed until his gasps began to slow somewhat. She was not sure if she imagined it, but a new heat began to spread between them. Théodred's hands strayed to her waist, and he lifted his head from her shoulder.

"What is it?" she whispered, thrilled and afraid of the hunger she saw in his eyes. His mouth hung slightly open, and his breathing ragged. He stroked her face gently, before capturing her lips in a desperate kiss. She would have gasped, had there been any breath left in her body, for the passion with which he now devoured her. It was a marking kiss, and it seared her soul with flames and heat that spread the length of her body. A growl reverberated his throat, an animal sound that seemed to betray only a small measure of his desire, and Léofe's stomach flipped in delicious pleasure before she bit back a small cry.

He pulled back from her with a groan. "Béma, Léofe, you drive me wild."

"I...I am sorry, I did not know." Her lips still tingled, and she touched them gingerly with her fingertips. They felt completely ordinary, though she did not.

"I imagine you did not," her favorite half-smile lit his features. "Your innocence is a beautiful thing, dear one."

"Oh." Léofe decided she did not appreciate being termed as innocent, but if Théodred loved her for it, she could certainly rise above it. He picked up her hand and placed a tender kiss on her wrist, his lips lingering on her pulse. It was a decidedly small gesture, but her skin prickled. "Oh...my."

"I do apologize if I have lit a fire, darling," Théodred said, still holding her hand. "But I promise that I will not dishonor you."

"I know," she said. "You are too noble at times like this, I am afraid." For a moment she thought he might get angry, but his face cleared and he began to laugh loudly. She clapped her hand over his mouth. "Quiet!" she said. "If you are discovered…"

"I will not be discovered," he said, nuzzling his nose into her palm and kissing it. "I asked a close friend to stand guard nearby; he is to send anyone that comes near in the opposite direction."

"A very good friend," she murmured. "I cannot imagine that playing lookout while a prince makes love to a maid is very enjoyable."

Théodred grinned. "I did the same for Erk while he was courting Alfrida. Granted, I was only a lad of nineteen, but I am happy to demand repayment now."

"Erkenbrand! You asked him to stand guard while you came to me?"

"Indeed."

"Oooo!" Léofe pushed Théodred away, startling him into acquiescing. She threw her blankets off, and stood, pacing the floor in anger and disregarding her state of undress. "I thought our affection was to be a secret! And then you share it with a friend? He will tell his wife, surely, and she will another, and then soon enough all will know!"

"That is very unlikely," Théodred said, his voice mild and trying to catch her by the wrist as she passed him. "And for shame! You know that. Erk and Alfie are the most trustworthy people I know. They will keep our secret."

"And what if they do not? What might happen if they make an illusion, or someone happens to read their diary -"

"Also unlikely. They are both quite sensible, and I know in surety that they do not put their private thoughts to parchment."

"You have doubled the chance of spies finding out! I do not want your father to find out by malicious design, or to be labelled as a harlot, or -"

"Léofe! Be still!" Théodred had drawn himself to his full height, and bore down on her with an intensity that cowed her. He gripped each of her arms and lowered his head to look her in the eye. "You must trust me in this. I know you trust me in all other ways, and you must trust my friends as well."

Her lip was trembling. Though his voice was gentle, the steel in it was frightening, and her voice dropped to a whisper. "Now I feel as if you have been gloating like a youth, shaking hands in a tavern to celebrate bedding a stable maid."

He frowned. "You know I do not feel that way."

"I thought I knew you, Théodred. But...I am hurt."

He squeezed her arms tightly, inhaling deeply through his nose before releasing her. "I shall see you at breakfast, I imagine."

"Théodred, I -"

Her plea came too late, and the door shut behind his back with an ominous thud.

.

.

Léofe could only pick at her porridge. The sickening sense of dread that had settled on her after her encounter with Théodred was fraying her nerves dreadfully. What would he say when he saw her next? Would he remove his suit, no longer wishing to be with her? The sight of the glob of now cold porridge only made her sicker; she missed her papa's gruel.

"Mistress Léofe."

She looked up; Théodred was standing in front of her, very formally with his hands clasped behind his back. Her mouth almost fell open to see him so soon. She had imagined that he would avoid her.

"I was wondering if you might have a moment to inspect Brego. I think he may have taken a sprain during the skirmish yesterday."

She stood so suddenly that her chair scraped against the floor eerily. "I must see him at once!"

But when she burst through his stall door, Théodred keeping a more moderate pace behind her, the stallion only whinnied happily and blew his hot breath in her face. At the click of the lock, she turned her bewildered gaze from Brego to his master, who stood close behind her in the confined space.

"I had to speak to you alone, and at once," he whispered. "Please, pretend that you are checking Brego, in case anyone followed us."

"Very well," she snapped, and immediately began with his legs. "Where was this sprain, do you say?"

"Erm, left back leg." He crouched beside her, his voice quiet. "I am sorry for how I reacted earlier, Léofe. Your concerns were valid; my actions too hasty, and the guilt of having hurt you is wearing on me."

"His muscle is strained, is all," Léofe said in a carrying tone. "This particular leg has always been quite prone to it."

"And how quickly might it heal?" His eyes were hopeful.

"It depends on how soon you treat it. If you fetch the right medicine straightaway, and take him out only for light exercise twice a day, he should be back to normal in three days."

"Three days?" Now he was incredulous.

Léofe smiled. "It is always better to prevent the strain in the first place, sire."

Théodred's face cleared. "Minx!"

"Better a minx than a liar! Brego is perfectly fit," she whispered. "I never knew you could be so manipulative."

"I never hesitate when it comes to what I want. Sometimes the methods are admittedly irregular."

"Such as coming to my bedchamber in the middle of the night?"

"Yes, such as that," he smiled. "I do not regret it, if you are seeking to reprimand me for my improper behavior."

"I would never," she said, a blush reddening her features. "For my improper thoughts and desire that you would come again leave me in no position to deal justice."

"Your...you have…" His eyes, which had been a melting warm brown, now turned dark and dangerous in a way she did not quite understand. "You desire me?"

"Of course I do, don't be such a dunderhead," she said tartly. "I am not as ignorant as you think me to be. Why else would I allow your improper advances?"

He was hovering over her, seemly poised to pounce right then and right there, with Brego munching lazily on his hay within touching distance when the door to the stables was thrown open and a pair of loud voices carried their way.

"You are overly worried, sire," Léofe said loudly, and she stood, wishing her flush to disappear. "Brego is simply tired from the long journey. A few days of rest, and he should be fully fit once more."

"Thank you for your assessment, Mistress," Théodred responded in kind, also rising. "I shall be sure to coddle him until we ride again." He opened the door for her, the astonished faces of a pair of stable hands immediately visible.

"And when will you ride again?" she asked politely.

"Five days. We must send for reinforcements from the nearby villages."

"Ah. I see."

"Do you?" His flippant teasing was most unlike the staid prince he showed to the world. If he was not more careful, there would be more questions.

"Indeed," Léofe said, lifting her nose in the air. "Good day, sire." And with a frosty look, she turned around and walked out of stable. The urge to sway her hips a bit more than normal was irresistible, and she smiled into the grey sun, thinking of how tormented her Théodred must be.

.

.

The two men grappled, grunting as each tried to gain the upper hand by bracing themselves in the dirt of the training yard. Théodred was breathing heavily; he was terribly mismatched against Erkenbrand, but he did prefer to lose against his friend than wrestle an unknown Rider, who could very well be a spy and be hiding a knife in his boot.

There were some shuffles and murmurs, and blinking sweat from his eye, Théodred saw above Erk's shoulder that several women were crossing an open corridor that overlooked the match, and a few of them stopped to watch. Alfrida's lazy grin in the direction of her husband's bare torso was easily recognized, and with a jolt Théodred saw Léofe standing close to his aunt, bundled in a shawl against the cold and her own gaze travelling to the watching men that hovered around the fence.

"You must let me win," Théodred muttered to Erkenbrand, at once putting a fresh reserve of strength into their grapple. They broke apart, Erk looking as menacing as he normally did, though a flicker of curiosity was present in his blue eyes. The men circled one another, Théodred waiting for Erk to make the first move. The yard was quiet; only a soft sound of coins being exchanged reached them in the ring. They had switched places now, and Erkenbrand glanced upward. A quick smile, presumably to return Alfrida's, and then his attention returned to his opponent.

"So, that is the way of it," he murmured, for Théodred's ears only. "I must say your subtlety is slipping, what with last night. I was wondering if you would make your affection known."

"I make nothing known," Théodred said. "But I ask again that you let me win. Have I not been embarrassed enough, in our years of bouting?"

Erkenbrand's lips grew into a wolfish smile. "I am a sentimental man, princeling. I would throw the match so that you might gain favor in a maid's eyes, but never for your pride."

"Alfie is right about one thing, then," the prince said, getting ready to surge forward.

"And what is that?"

"You are a lout!"

Théodred's defeat of Erkenbrand was swift, though not so swift as to arouse suspicion. At least, Léofe did not suspect that Erkenbrand threw the match on purpose, and she felt very proud as the large man landed in the mud with Théodred standing triumphant at his side.

"My," Alfrida said mildly beside her. "Erk never loses. I wonder what has gotten into him."

"Never?" Léofe asked with interest.

"Not since his youth, I believe." Loud laughter was now coming from the center of the stunned yard, and Léofe watched as Théodred helped Erkenbrand to his feet, both of them apparently finding something very funny. Alfrida waved below, and the two men returned the gesture. And if Léofe was not mistaken, which she could very well be, Théodred's eyes lingered on her with a small smile.


	15. Chapter 15

The following day, Léofe was putting away her spare clothing when Alfrida barged into her room. Léofe looked up, startled to see the lady looking most discomposed. 

 

“There is to be a hanging,” Alfrida said without preamble, rushing over to the little window and pulling the heavy drapes across. Darkness descended on the chamber. “I do so hate hangings! I wish Théodred —” she paused. “A man tried to knife the prince this morn.”

 

“No! Surely not?” Léofe gripped a frock tightly, not wishing to drop it on the floor.

 

“Yes,” Alfrida said, peering quickly between the drapes before closing them again with a grimace. “I am horrified that such a thing has happened, and so close to Yule! Théodred has been careful for many years, since the first attempt on his life.”

 

This flood of new information was making Léofe feel rather ill: her stomach was rolling and her heart was hammering. “I did not know,” was the only comment she could force from her dry throat. Théodred had almost been killed? This morning?

 

“I did not want you to happen to look out your window and see,” Alfrida said, turning back to her. “It’s a gruesome business. Did you truly not hear the noise below?” 

 

Léofe strained her ears, and could indeed hear a clamor from the courtyard that seemed far louder and angrier than normal. And above it, Théodred’s bellowing voice, though she could not make out the words.  Alfrida closed her eyes, breathing deeply. 

 

“He is pronouncing the punishment,” she explained. “The man will swing soon enough. Let us retire elsewhere!”

 

Léofe laid the remainder of her clothing on her bed to put away later, before following Alfrida out of the room and to find a place where the horror of the execution would remain far away. 

 

Supper that night was a subdued affair. There were only a few murmurs from the long tables, and the overloud clinking of cups and knives echoed through the hall strangely. Léofe found she could not eat; though Théodred sat a few chairs down from her, she could still feel his radiating wrath as he attacked his meal with ruthless abandon. She had never seen him in such a state before, and it frightened her, turning her stomach and making her mouth dry. Even Erkenbrand was not speaking, though he kept one hand on Alfrida’s leg in a protective manner. Alfrida likewise was silent. 

 

Though it seemed like an age, supper was eventually dismissed and some of the tension dissipated as men trampled from the hall. Théodred stalked away through a different door, followed soon afterwards by Erkenbrand.

 

“I am glad that is over,” Alfrida said, slouching in her chair. “That was, by far, the worst meal I have ever experienced. If I do not get indigestion, it will be a miracle!”

 

“It was most unpleasant,” Léofe agreed.

 

“To make matters worse, I stopped by the kitchen on my way up before supper. Fourteen of the sculleries quit after the day’s events.”

 

“Fourteen!”

 

“Aye,” the lady said, her tone and expression grim. “Well, Erk and Théodred probably will not appear again for some time, and I will not find help on such short notice. I must prepare tomorrow’s supper. I do hope you will assist me.”

 

The empty kitchens seemed desolate and looming; without so many extra bodies of maids and cooks it was strange to just house two people. It added to the peculiarity of the day, and Léofe felt detached as she rubbed butter into flour to make pastry. Alfrida sighed several times over a big pot, where she was cooking meat with spices. 

 

“Tomorrow will be better,” Alfrida said after some time. “I do hope Théodred will come out of his rage.”

 

Léofe did not know what to say to this. She had not thought Théodred capable of rages at all, but could she truly claim to know very much at all of her prince? Rolling out the dough, she wished for something more engaging to distract her. Cooking was very fine and Alfrida found it restorative, but Léofe needed more. She idly wondered if she could visit Brego before retiring. 

 

“Alfie.” A gruff voice interrupted her musings, and Léofe saw Erkenbrand standing in the doorway, looking weary but holding his gaze on his wife. Alfrida rushed to him, grasping his arms and speaking in a low voice. Obviously not meant to hear the exchange, Léofe blushed and ducked her head, returning to her task. 

 

“Léofe, I will return shortly,” Alfrida turned to address her. “See that the meat doesn’t burn.”

 

And so she was abandoned; the footsteps of the lady and her husband echoing down the corridor at a hurried pace. Léofe sighed and fetched a dozen huge pie moulds, beginning the very arduous task of setting the pastry. What a rotten day! Despair was picking at her heart, and she wondered if peace would ever come again, or if they were doomed to suffer until the end.

 

“Léofe.”

 

Her skin prickled, and not having heard the soft footfall of her intruder, she still discerned his identity. But she could not look at him so easily, not after today. 

 

“Dear heart,” he said. His voice was all that was gentle, not at all the vengeful man she had witnessed all day. “My patrol is leaving at once. I needed to see you.” He approached her, daring to lift a lock of hair from her face with a long finger. 

 

Léofe did not speak, and her vision blurred with hot tears. She rested her floury hands on the table, keeping her head turned. 

 

“No kiss for your departing beloved?” 

 

No matter how complete her misery, she still smiled to think of herself as his love. She turned; Théodred’s rueful, half-smile twisted her heart, and Léofe wiped her hands on her apron before surrendering herself into his embrace, releasing a long breath. 

 

“A terrible day this was,” he murmured, unknowingly echoing her thoughts from earlier. “I am sorry you have been alone.”

 

“I have not been alone!” Léofe contradicted. “I was with Alfrida. It is I that is sorry that  _ you _ remained uncomforted.”

 

He chuckled. “It is not often that I am angry, but it does last quite some time.”

 

“I was worried about you,” she said. “Not just because of your anger, but for your life! I could not have borne it if you died. How could you have put yourself in such a situation?” Léofe scolded, pulling herself away to frown at him. 

 

Regret lined the prince’s face. “I had known the man for years,” he said quietly. “I did not think him a traitor.”

 

“Oh, Théodred!” Léofe felt like crying again, and she put her hand to his face to satisfy herself that he was well. 

 

“Consider this a double warning: Léofe, you must be safe! I only risked seeing you here alone because all the men are either in the courtyard or the barracks and the servants are gone.”

 

“I do not want you to go.”

 

“But I must! Fie on the patrols; I would ride to war to keep you safe!” At once he laughed, and in a self-deprecating tone, continued, “The well-being of my people have always been of paramount concern to me, but you are personal. I love my people, yet it is you whom I ache for. I would die in battle tomorrow if it meant you would never see disaster increasing across the Riddermark.”

 

“Hush!” Léofe said, putting a finger to his lips. “I have already seen tragedy; please do refrain from such talk. You will not die if I have any say in it! Go, if you must  **—** but be safe! My life, safe as it would be, would be dark without you.”

 

He kissed her then, gripping her tightly across the shoulders. Then he drew her nearer, and lowered his lips to her neck, breathing in deeply and causing goose pimples to race across her skin. “Farewell, dear heart,” Théodred said, and at the removal of both his warmth from her body and his body from the kitchens, Léofe sat down on a stool and wept. 

 

.

 

.

 

Waiting was by far the worst pastime invented, and within two days of Théodred’s departure Léofe felt drained and anxious, and inclined to kicking over chairs in frustration. Alfrida held up better; Erkenbrand had left on a very short trip and once returned, would stay in the Hornburg for the present time. Théodred had assigned his uncle with the running of the Keep, as two more éoreds were to take up residence after Yule. And so the lady hummed to herself as she went about her duties and chores with a waspish Léofe in tow. 

 

“Chin up!” Alfrida said, once she noticed Léofe’s dark scowl. “I shall be able to hire more help again soon!”

 

She thought that the extra chores was the issue! Léofe could have laughed in derision, but she liked Alfrida far too much to hold it against her. It was the thought of Théodred **—** far away and in danger **—** that was wearing on Léofe. Worry followed her every step: rarely could she think of anything apart from Théodred, and rest evaded her, the night bringing anxieties and fear instead of sleep. 

 

Every day there were more people seeking refuge in the Deep, having been forced from their homes. Orc bands were becoming much more common, travelling through the Mark with apparently no fear of the éoreds that guarded it. It was during this time that Léofe came to admire Alfrida tenfold: even under these circumstances, the lady of the Keep was able to stay relatively calm, feeding as many people as they could and finding bedding, clothing and other necessities to those that needed it. Léofe was glad she only had to take orders **—** she would not have known at all what to do, nor could her spirit have borne it. 

 

.

 

.

 

Erkenbrand had returned. Léofe knew this because, as she was carrying a load of dirty linens from the kitchen to the laundry, the sound of the front gate reached her ears and Erkenbrand’s not-really-dulcet tones filled the courtyard. She peeked through the pillars on the wall, and sure enough, he was dismounting his horse.

 

“Alfie!” Erkenbrand bellowed. “No, Cerol, I won’t.” This last part was directed towards the soldier next to him, who seemed to be pleading with the much larger man.  

 

“But, my lord—” The other man’s voice was not quite so robust, and Léofe did not hear all he said. 

 

“Alfie!” Erkenbrand’s roar echoed in the courtyard. Léofe imagined that Alfrida, who likely could not help but hear, would not be pleased about being summoned like a servant. Perhaps she was staying away on purpose. Erkenbrand continued to his companion, “Shut up, man! I am done listening to lectures. I want my bed, and I want my wife. ALFIE!” 

 

Finally, Alfrida’s piqued face appeared in a corridor across from Léofe, and the lady glared down at her husband. “Do cease your bellowing, sir,” she called. “There is enough senseless noise around here without you adding to it.”

 

Erkenbrand grinned up at her, and still shouted, though quieter, “I missed you, Alf!”

 

She smiled back. “I missed you as well, Erk.”

 

The rest of the éored was now clamoring in the courtyard, and Léofe ducked away to finish her errand, tears burning in her eyes. The easy friendship and love Alfrida and Erkenbrand shared made her enormously sad. If only Léofe could be married to Théodred, and they enjoy the comforts of matrimony! She would be far less lonely. Suddenly Théodred’s stern voice filled her mind:  _ You would be less safe! You must be safe. _ Léofe scowled at his imaginary scolding. 

 

“Safe and utterly miserable,” she muttered to herself, depositing the sack of linens by the laundry door. 

 

As if Léofe was not unhappy enough, that night over supper Erkenbrand announced that the normal Yule celebrations would be postponed. She had looked forward to the celebrations so, not least of all because Théodred had planned to be there, which, according to Alfrida, he no longer intended to do. 

 

“It is a shame that so many must be kept away from home and their families, especially during the holiday,” Alfrida sighed, after Erkenbrand had finished his spiel and the meal was served. 

 

“It is more important to be safe than to be together,” Erkenbrand said gruffly, taking his wife’s hand and causing Léofe to glower. 

 

“Why be safe if we cannot be together?” she muttered to herself, then blushing as Alfrida looked her way. 

  
“All will be well,” the lady said, smiling. “You shall see.”


	16. Chapter 16

Théodred's patrol returned four days later, missing the departure of an éored under the command of an older man called Gamling by only a few hours. A hundred men out, and a hundred men in—there had only been time to wash half the mead cups. Alfrida was frazzled as she rushed from task to task, her hair falling from its meticulous bun. Léofe had been delegated to mopping the outside corridors, but gave up when she heard the Riders enter the courtyard. Why continue, anyway, when men would be stomping in and out with their muddy boots within minutes?

There were more men than usual, too. With mop in one hand and soap-filled bucket in the other, Léofe dallied as she walked back towards the kitchens. There was hardly space; if she was not mistaken it seemed that Théodred had somehow returned with double soldiers. She craned her neck to see him, but only saw the top of his head and Brego's ears.

"Léofe! Léofe!"

Recognizing Alfrida's terse tone (the lady having visited Léofe mopping only to remind her of something she had said hours earlier), Léofe pushed through the crowd, scowling at any man that looked her way. Alfrida pulled her forward once she was free, sloshing them both in dirty water.

"I need you in the kitchens," Alfrida said. "We have an extra éored to feed tonight!"

Not for the first time, Léofe cursed the blasted sculleries that had left their post after Théodred ordered the hanging of his would-be assassin. It was Alfrida and her that were left to pick up the slack, and Léofe could not claim cookery to be one of her favorite pursuits. In fact, she was hating it more and more each day.

Bloody haunches of cow were scattered across the work tables, and Léofe's frown deepened as she set away the mop and bucket. Chickens she could butcher very well, but beef was beyond her knowledge. Perhaps Alfrida would give her something else to do. Already the lady had rolled up her sleeves, and was now sharpening a massive knife.

"There are several barrels of potatoes in the caves," Alfrida told her. "Take a servant and bring up three barrels of spring potatoes. Actually," she added as an afterthought. "Take a few servants. Each barrel holds about eighty pounds of potatoes."

Léofe grumbled all the way to the caves, and would have on the way back, but with the weight of the barrel on her shoulders, she had no breath for it. She was lucky to have found a helper at all, but even that did not brighten her mood. Once the three barrels were aboveground, Alfrida, a pile of cut beef at her elbow, stopped Léofe as she pried the first barrel open.

"I have enlisted help to peel potatoes," she said. "I need you to run another errand for me, Léofe, if you would."

What she really wanted, though of course she would not have said it aloud, was to be alone, in her chamber and away from potatoes and cow carcasses and extra soldiers. She wanted to latch her door and bury her face under her pillow and scream. Léofe was bone-weary; the endless days of work and chores were wearing on her, though not so much as the stress of worry over Théodred. She was soul-weary, too, and she needed relief. But, as she told herself sternly, that would have to wait.

"What is it, Alfrida?" Léofe asked, keeping her voice carefully under control.

"Théodred requested refreshment for himself and the captains he has summoned. Fill a tray—be generous!—and take it to his study. I cannot do it myself," Alfrida added, not looking up from her task. "As I am covered in blood."

"Not such a bad notion," Léofe said, searching around the pantry for bread, cheeses and preserves. "Then Théodred might start fetching his own food and spare us the trouble."

Alfrida laughed, and if that was all the satisfaction Léofe would find in her day, she would muddle through the remainder of it gladly.

There was loud talking through the door to Théodred's study, and deciding not to interrupt Léofe pushed the door in with her shoulder. Her entrance was not noticed. She wandered over to the sideboard, setting the tray down with a bang. The talking ceased.

"Léofe!" Théodred cleared his voice, setting down a quill that he was using to point to a map, which all the captains were bent over. "What brought you here?"

Léofe turned to the group of men, smiling sweetly. "You asked for refreshment, sire," she said. "I am simply the bearer of it."

"Praise ye, lassie!" A middle-aged man with dark ginger hair strode over to the sideboard with great purpose, and was soon followed by the rest of the company, apart from Théodred, who had not removed his eyes from her. Léofe stepped away from the crowded corner, and the prince met her on her way out.

"I missed you," he whispered, darting a glance at the men, who were enjoying the food with great vigour and did not seem to notice anything further than their plates.

"When can we speak privately?" Léofe asked, growing concerned at the shadows that lined his eyes. New lines had appeared on his brow since last she'd seen him, and she swallowed back her surfacing fear.

Théodred was frowning. "I am departing again tomorrow."

Her spirits fell. She had been hoping to spend more time with her love; he was absent far too often!

"Chin up!" he said softly. "I will only be gone for four days or so."

What Léofe did not say, though she wanted to, was: "Four days! Four bloody days that I am stuck here without you and you are in danger nearly every moment!" But she did not say it. She managed a smile and took in the magnificent sight of her prince in his sun-emblazoned armor, and left without a word.

.

.

If Théodred was in residence, even if for only a night, that meant Brego was too. Léofe considered briefly returning to the kitchens and more chores from Alfrida, but decided that maybe she would not be missed since the lady was in such a tizzy. So Léofe fetched her cloak and walked down to the stables.

Brego was clearly as exhausted as everyone else in the Keep, his head was bowed as he ruffled through his trough of oats half-heartedly. She called his name as she stepped through the stall door, but he only shook his head in response. No more nuzzles and tickles then. Léofe felt as if a part of her had died right then with the absence Brego's youthful energy. She sighed, held back her tears, and fetched a currycomb to brush out his matted fur. He did not look at all the shining and proud stallion they had trained only last year! She brushed him for quite some time, pulling out burrs and bugs with practiced patience. They remained undisturbed, despite that the stables were busier than Léofe had ever seen: stablehands, squires, Riders, and horses all shuffled in and out with speed, arguments breaking out and horses trying to nip at each other. Everyone was on edge.

"I thought I might find you here."

His quiet voice sent a shiver across her body, and she straightened and wiped her eyes before turning to smile at her beloved. He looked even more worn-out than he had in his study. "Théodred," she murmured, pulling him into the stall and closing it behind him. "You look terrible!"

He smiled at that, his old self returning for a half-moment. "Dear Léofe! I do appreciate that you do not mince your words."

"Why should I?" she sniffed. "You look as though you need sleep! You and Brego both."

"Yes, I imagine so," he said. "And what of you?"

"Me? I am quite fine, thank you."

He crossed his arms, looking sternly down at her. "I know you better than to believe that outrageous lie, miss. Even so, your eyes betray you."

"Eyes can lie."

"In my experience, they very rarely do."

Léofe frowned. "Fine. I cannot sleep either, that is all."

"Why not?"

She dug her heel into the ground, feeling herself flush. "I worry for you. Do not say that I should not! I know that is what you wish to say, and that would be your lie. I know you too, Théodred, and I would wager that you worry for everyone in the Riddermark except yourself. But you deserve more than that. I am merely compensating."

He was silent for a moment, and she wondered if she had offended him. Then he threw his head back and laughed. "Dear, sweet Léofe! I missed you!"

Léofe dropped the comb, opening her arms to embrace him with all her might. He felt so good, as pathetic as they both were, and she did not want to let him go ever again.

"I am sorry that I am still filthy from travelling," he murmured into her hair. "I know this cannot be pleasant to you."

"It is very pleasant!" she said, clinging to him fiercely. "I love you, whether you smell or not!"

Théodred went very still. "Léofe…I love you as well. Please know that."

"I know." A snuffling noise approached them, and Léofe felt a tug on her hair. "Brego! We have not forgotten you!" They laughed together, breaking apart so that the stallion could sniff around Théodred, who produced an apple from his vest.

"I think it is past time for supper," he murmured. As he spoke, Léofe noticed that the only sound she could hear was Brego's munching. The stable now seemed quite empty, and her skin tingled.

"I should return," she sighed. "Though I do not wish to. Alfrida is having a very difficult day."

"Even with Erk to keep her straightened out?"

Léofe smiled. "He can only do so much."

"I suppose you are correct," Théodred said, returning her grin.

"I am always right. Do keep that in mind for my next statement: you ought to march straight to bed and get some sleep!"

He pulled a face. "So demanding! But I would rather stay here with you."

"You may not! In fact, I feel that I have been preventing Brego from resting as well, so I will be on my way—"

She was pulled back as she tried to leave, Théodred's fingers like a vice on her wrist. He drew her back to him, crushing his lips to hers and taking her breath away. When he released her, several moments later, they were both breathing heavily and Léofe felt flushed from her head to her toes. "I could not let you go without a kiss," he told her, looking sheepish. "I do not know when we may be alone again. The Deep is so crowded now!"

Léofe merely hummed in response, smoothing back his hair from his face. "That is the least of my worries," she said. "Do be safe—if not for me, for your father and your country."

His lips turned downward. "For you, dear heart. Always for you."

She leaned forward one last time to kiss his cheek, and this time he let her leave.

.

.

Léofe was in an exceptionally good mood when she wandered lazily back to her room to discard her cloak, and then in a spirit of goodwill set off for the kitchens. Alfrida would likely need her help, and why shouldn't she be of use? It would keep her mind off of her anxieties, at least a little bit. It was when she was passing the door at the very end of the corridor before the staircase, that she paused, straining to hear as the sound came again—retching. She stared: was that not Alfrida and Erkenbrand's chamber? Was one of them sick?

She knocked at the door, feeling foolish. An answering croak came, and she pushed open the door. Alfrida was sitting on the floor, slouched against the wall in front of a chamber pot. The image seemed so incongruous to what Léofe knew of the lady that her mouth nearly fell open. But she stopped herself. "Are you alright?" Léofe asked, closing the door behind her before going to Alfrida's side and crouching down.

"Yes, yes," the lady said, somewhat grouchily. She would not meet Léofe's eyes.

"Are you ill? I can fetch a healer—"

"There is no use!" Alfrida sighed. "I will need him soon enough."

"What do you—"

"I am with child!" At this, the lady promptly buried her face in her hands and began to sob. Léofe blinked, and then did what seemed right—she wrapped an arm around Alfrida's shaking shoulders and hugged her tight. She did not know what to say. That it would be alright? She did not know if it would. That a child should be celebrated? Perhaps it should not, at this place and time. And at Alfrida's age, too! Léofe's heart ached.

At last the lady pulled away, wiping her face on her sleeve. "Do not tell anyone," she said in a trembling voice. "Please."

"Does Erkenbrand know?"

Alfrida's lip trembled. "Of course! He always knows. And he worries, but I cannot demand his care or support from his duties, not now, so close to invasion—" She stopped, glancing at Léofe. "I am sorry. I should not burden you with this."

Léofe thought quickly, then said, "If Erkenbrand cannot help, I can. You are my friend! And you should not be alone, not now."

"Thank you." Alfrida fiddled with the hem of her dress. "I have been pregnant before, you know. Many times, in fact. We have never had any issue conceiving…"

Léofe felt herself turning red. It was an honor to be confided with such personal information, but she was not sure if she wanted to hear it.

The lady continued, her voice very small. "I stopped counting my miscarriages after eight. Though it has been many years since I conceived, why this had to be now, I do not know…"

Her despair was leaking into Léofe, and her own eyes were burning with sympathetic tears now. How many years of heartbreak had Alfrida endured? Léofe thought she might die if she lost a child, especially if it were a child of Théodred's, whom she loved…

"I will be alright!" Alfrida said, shifting. "This one will end soon enough, just as the others did."

Léofe took her arm, and together they stood. "Alfrida," she began, keeping a hold on her. "I think you should rest. You have been run ragged, and that cannot be good for your baby."

Alfrida shrugged, sniffling. "Why should it matter? I cannot keep it. My body will not."

"If that is what you believe, so it shall be!" Léofe said fiercely. "You will hurt it with your sadness if you continue to think such thoughts. There is a reason we give our expecting mares much rest and the best food."

"I am not a horse," the lady muttered. "And I have much to do, the soldiers are needing supper tonight."

"I will take care of that!" Léofe said, and began to steer her towards the bed. "You must rest."

Alfrida's dragging steps were testament to Léofe's convictions, and she heard no more argument. Once the lady was tucked in and assured by Léofe that she could, indeed, see to the running of the keep, Léofe left her to sleep. Léofe felt that she had done right by forcing Alfrida to take rest, but as she walked towards the kitchens, doubt began to plague her.

What had she just volunteered for?

.

.

Lice.

As soon as Léofe had heard the gossip from a laundress, she nearly screamed aloud. How many more things could possibly go wrong?

She was not cut out for this.

By this time, three days had passed, and with her charity worn away from stress, Léofe finally relented and told Alfrida of the troubles.

"How many are infected?" the lady asked, now her normal calm self, tucked into her bed and sipping a mug of broth which Léofe had brought.

"It was only one family that brought the lice," she explained. "But with everyone living so close...about two dozen others have complained. But that is only as of this morning."

Alfrida thought for a moment. "We need to stop this before it becomes worse," she said. "We need to gather all those with lice and treat them for it. I am afraid all the clothing and linens that could possibly be contaminated will have to be washed."

Léofe winced. "That is what I feared."

"We need to protect everyone else as well. Head wraps should be prepared, doused with parsley. It will repel the lice."

Léofe did not want to do any of those things. Since assuming Alfrida's responsibilities, she had been run ragged trying to organize everything with so little help. Meals had been very haphazard, and everywhere in the Deep just seemed...dirty. The lack of snow had also made it very hard to come by clean water, and Erkenbrand had implemented rations. It was all terribly overwhelming, and knowing Théodred was to return the following day only made Léofe's spirits sink further. He would see what a failure she was!

"You have been doing very well," Alfrida interrupted her thoughts, as if reading them. "Considering the circumstances."

"And my lack of skills," she mumbled.

"You have only been here a few months, you can hardly be expected to take over perfectly. And I am sure no one has noticed," the lady said, smiling. "It is time for me to return to the real world. Do not protest! I am feeling somewhat better, and all this lying around is beginning to drive me stir-crazy. What do you say we go to battle with Fate's ill will?"

Léofe felt her shoulders lighten, and she sighed. "I am so thankful that you said 'we'!"


	17. Chapter 17

Léofe's good humor, questionable under normal circumstances, was long gone as she was going through the barracks. She did not like the barracks one bit: they were smelly, and dark, and made her nervous. Alfrida had wisely arranged for Léofe to do this errand during a training drill when the barracks were empty, for which she was thankful, but perhaps if there had been men there they could have simply done her task for her.

She was gathering all the linens; all the items where lice could possibly inhabit. It was a nasty business: Alfrida was not normally responsible for the barracks' living conditions, but since the pestilence could infect everyone in the Keep, the job of scrubbing clothing and drapes for the entire fortress had fallen to her. To them, Léofe thought. She could easily admit to herself that since she had been brought back to the Keep the second time, she herself had been filling a role as the lady's assistant. And she liked it! Truly, it did not have the excitement and freedom of raising horses, but it was a satisfying pastime and Léofe did prefer to be useful. A final point, which she could barely admit to herself and would not to any other, was that she was learning a variety of skills that just may benefit her, were she to marry Théodred. Which, unless Fate had an intervening plan, she intended to do.

So despite the smell and dark and overall grossness, Léofe was smiling to herself as she took down drapes, stripped bedclothes, and gathered any bits of personal clothing that were lying around. She had spread an enormous tarp in the middle of the room with which to bind everything up to transport to the laundry. At least she did not have to do the scrubbing herself—there were servants enough for the laundry, if nothing else.

Nearing the end of the barracks, (which could hold two éoreds; roughly 240 beds meant a lot of linens!), Léofe began to feel relieved, and she began to hum to herself.

_O, I see, I see the big mountains;_

_O, I see, I see the big mountains;_

_O, I see, I do see the corries,_

_I see the mist-covered glens._

_I see as I linger the land of my birth;_

_I am welcomed in the language I cherish._

_There I receive hospitality, and love when I reach it_

_That I'd trade not for tons of gold . . ._

A shuffling to her left caught her attention, but when Léofe turned her head she saw nothing. Frowning, she returned to her task, blowing a bit of hair from in front of her eyes.

An arm like iron fastened around her waist, and before she could open her mouth to scream, a large, dirty hand clamped over it. "No noise yet, missy." Stank breath brushed across her face. "Not until the prince comes along looking for ye."

"You promise sport!" A second voice wined in the darkness, and Léofe began to struggle with all her strength, kicking and flailing her limbs, which earned her a cuff across the face from—a third? How many men were there? Her heart was hammering so hard she thought it might burst from her chest, and another scream caught in her throat.

"No sport," the first man growled, and spit landed onto her neck. "No need for it. He'll be along soon enough."

Léofe strained against his grip, but it was no use. She tried stomping on his foot—no avail, and she was hit again.

"I think I 'ear 'im comin'," The second speaker now sounded as if he were speaking from the entrance before he returned to the darker interior. "Let 'er go."

The hand was removed from her mouth, and almost against her will, Léofe shrieked, redoubling her efforts to escape. This time, a punch collided with her head rather than her face, and she dropped like an anvil, lights blossoming in her eyes. She shook her head, trying to orient herself. Was Théodred coming? Were they going to kill him? It certainly seemed to be so—and she had been the bait. The stupid bait.

She thought she heard the clashing of swords, but the noise came from far away to her ears, which felt as if they had been stuffed with cotton. Three men against her prince—the odds were not good. Gritting her teeth, Léofe pulled herself to her wobbly feet, and now unencumbered by the attacks, she thought quickly.

Several of the bunks had knives in them: men and their weapons! She got lucky—the nearest one had a lethal looking blade about six inches long. Léofe gripped it tightly, wishing her hands would stop trembling. Shaking her head again, Léofe turned to the frenzy but was immediately knocked over by a falling body. Her head hit the ground, and in her eyeline she saw the man who had fallen—blood spurted from his neck, which he tried to stop with his hands, gurgling and gasping. She felt very little sympathy for the villain.

The knife had been knocked from her grip as well, but the man's sword was within easy reaching distance. Her fingers closed about the hilt. Béma, it was heavy! She stood once more.

Théodred was holding off the other men very well on his own, but he was bleeding from several places and one of the men had two knives. Léofe scowled. How dare they threaten their sovereign! These...monsters had no right to be called Eorlingas!

Another man went down, howling and clutching the back of his leg. The other one, with the knives, got a lucky shot at Théodred's face and blood spurted into the prince's eyes, and he staggered. Léofe stumbled forward, raising her sword just as the attacker clenched a knife, ready to shove into Théodred's chest. Her blade hit home first, and the man fell with a strangled gasp before he lay unmoving between them.

Léofe was breathing rather heavily, and perhaps it was the fear that was coursing through her veins—everything around her seemed hazy and red. She had never wielded a sword before, let alone killed a man, and she felt the contents of her stomach rolling.

"Léofe," Théodred was wiping his sleeve across his face, blinking at her. "You're safe!"

"Yes," she said, her voice sounding high and wavering. "They did not want me. They only wanted you."

The bloodied sword fell from her fingers, and Léofe stepped across the body to allow Théodred to wrap an arm around her, though he groaned. "I am going to have a hell of a headache," he muttered. "Penance for our foolishness. What were you thinking, Léofe! To enter the barracks alone?"

She buried her face into his tunic, the smell of blood filling her nose even more. "Lice outbreak," she said, voice muffled. "Everything needs to be cleaned. Not enough servants."

Théodred grunted. "Do not go anywhere alone. Please."

"You do not need to tell me that!" Léofe said fervently. "I have learned a lesson!"

He released her, limping over to the second man who had fallen, who lay moaning. "Do not look," he advised her over his shoulder, and Léofe closed her eyes tightly. More gurgling, then silence. Then a hand grasped hers, and she opened her eyes to see Théodred lifting her hand to his lips. "Let us leave this scene," he said quietly. "Dear heart, you do not look well!"

"Neither do you," she said, smiling despite his gruesome features. Blood still trickled from his head wound, which had smeared across his face.

"Flesh wounds only. Painful enough, but quick to heal. Perhaps I will even have a scar." He grinned and pointed to his head. "Would you still love me, Léofe, if I was scarred?"

"Even more so."

Alfrida shrieked and dropped a plate holding several loaves of bread when they made their appearance in the kitchen to seek assistance. Théodred was leaning on Léofe, his sword still drawn. Léofe probably could have laughed—she was feeling giddy from their narrow escape, were she not in a significant amount of pain herself.

"What on earth happened!" the lady cried.

"Léofe was attacked in the barracks," Théodred said. "I was walking past when it happened."

This little lie, omitting the fact that Théodred was the target, did not fool Alfrida, and her features changed from concerned to angry. "Go through," she said, pointing to the door on the far end of the kitchen. "I will fetch a healer."

"Alert Grimbold as well," Théodred said. "He will know what to do."

Léofe had never been through that particular door, and when she and Théodred lumbered through, she saw it was an infirmary. Right off the kitchens? She grimaced—how disgusting! She helped her prince to sit down on a low cot, and he frowned.

"I have not come off this badly in a fight for years," he said as she sat next to him. "I am utterly embarrassed. Erk is going to tease me mercilessly for this."

"Do not be embarrassed," she said. "How often do three attackers rush you at once while you are unprepared?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but then thought better of it, and smiled ruefully. "I will not tell you," he said. "I do not want you to worry." He lifted a strand of her hair with a gentle finger, tucking it under her head wrap. "So what is this about lice?"

Léofe sighed. "There was an outbreak about two days ago. There have been over two dozen servants and Riders who had to have their hair shaven. We have been working on cleaning everything in the Keep. It has been a disaster, on top of everything else!"

"Everything else?"

"Servants have been leaving their posts in droves," she said. "Now there is only a handful, apart from Alfrida and I."

Théodred frowned. "I did not know this."

"Of course not. You have been away!"

"I could have helped," he sighed. "I will help. There are many soldiers here; I will make several available to Alfrida."

Léofe clasped his hand even though he winced at the touch. She was just considering the technicalities of kissing him—her lips were split and bruised, and his were just covered in blood, when they were joined by a handful of individuals.

Grimbold strode in with a face of thunder, and began, if not to yell, then to speak to the prince in very loud tones. Théodred ignored him, lifting his arms to allow the healer to strip him of his tunic. To Léofe's great regret, Alfrida drew her away from the men and began attending her, dipping cloths into warm water to clean her face.

"Are you hurt elsewhere?" Alfrida asked.

"—wandering around alone, could have died! Foolhardy and immature!"

Léofe suspected that Grimbold was not talking about her. "I am not," she said to the lady. "I was not the target."

"I know," Alfrida murmured. "And so does Grimbold. But do not let his words affect you; you are not to blame."

"—should have let her die instead of putting yourself in such danger!"

"Should have let her die!" Théodred's calm manner dissipated, and he stood to face down Grimbold, his brows drawn together in dark rage. Alfrida flinched beside her, and Théodred continued to growl, "Should have let her die? Who am I to demand an innocent woman perish to spare my life?"

"You are the prince—"

Théodred was snarling. "I am a protector, not a deity! It is my duty to keep my people alive, even at the cost of my own!"

"Do not throw away your life so recklessly! The king is dying, and if you die as well, we are even weaker! Saruman will raze the Mark without a second thought. We will be defenseless." The older man's voice was increasing in volume, and Théodred towered over him, matching his tone.

"And what is the purpose in keeping our lands if there is no one to live in them? For pride?"

Grimbold had no response to this, though he continued to scowl.

Théodred sat down again, his shoulders weary but his voice still angry. "Dispose of the bodies. Search them for any evidence that might connect them to Wormtongue, or any other traitors."

With a sweep of his cloak, Grimbold departed.

"Well!" Alfrida said. Mesmerized by the scene, she had stopped cleaning Léofe's face. The lady shook her head and returned to her task, muttering again, "Well!"

Léofe felt frozen on her cot. As flattered as she was that Théodred had defended her twice in less than an hour, she did not know what to think beyond that, apart from being offended that Grimbold had given her life for naught. It was guilt that caught her then: guilt that Théodred was wounded because of her, guilt because her life had driven a wedge between Théodred and one of his trusted commanders, guilt that her prince always had to be concerned about her. The euphoria of being alive faded.

Alfrida must have sensed her discouragement, for after Léofe's wounds were dressed, she was ordered to remain in the infirmary until the following morning. With that, she was tucked into her cot and given a sleeping draught from the healer. She could not see where Théodred was, and feeling immeasurably sad, she closed her eyes.

.

.

It was the smell from the kitchens that woke Léofe. For a moment she wondered where she was, and the distant throbbing in her head reminded her: the attack in the barracks. Théodred bleeding. Grimbold shouting. The medicine! It was no wonder her mind was feeling so foggy. She turned in the cot, grimacing as her head pounded.

"Do not move if it pains you."

Such advice was fair, but she did not like it. Especially when the speaker sounded so calm! She opened her eyes and scowled to see Théodred sitting near her, though not too near, and watching her in amusement. His head was wrapped in a snowy white bandage, but he otherwise looked unharmed. That was well—for then she would not feel guilty for her temper.

"Are you going to scold me?" he asked, setting aside a packet of parchment. "If you intend to, you may wish to keep your voice low. There are guards outside the door."

"If my voice is quiet, it is because my head is splitting," she croaked. "I would like nothing more than for everyone to hear what I have to say to you!"

He frowned. "You were not angry before your rest; I wonder what has caused this."

Léofe sat up as best she could to glare at him better, the thin blanket falling from her shoulders. "Who did you tell? Those men knew you would come for me! I have kept my lips sealed as you demanded—who did you tell?"

"I have not shared our secret," he said. "I already thought of it: we are too obvious, despite our efforts. What is your next grievance?"

Grimbold's words came flooding back. Should have let her die. "How could you be so foolish to rush three attackers at once?" she demanded, her offense sharpening her words. "They would not have hurt me!" Even as she said it, she knew she was wrong. One of the men had wanted sport, and she shuddered. Yes, they would have hurt her.

Théodred was watching her, his brows drawn together. "I have proven my foolishness where you are concerned a hundredfold, even before yesterday," he said. "If getting a little battered and bruised is the price of loving you, I will pay it as often as I must."

A little battered and bruised? He was mad! She had seen his wounds. Tears pricked at her eyes, and Léofe brushed them away angrily. "It is not fair!" she burst. "To feel as a pawn in men's games to hurt the one I love! You could not understand the helplessness."

"I do understand," he said, his tender tone unwavering. "I am helpless in many ways myself. I do not like your being used any more than you do—perhaps even less. There are times—" His glance darted to the door, and Léofe's eyes followed his. It was shut, but the clanking of armor was not far beyond. "There are times when I wish I could take you and Brego and run! Anywhere but here; anywhere safe. But I cannot."

Léofe turned her face away. Théodred shifted in his seat. "Tell me," she said. "Why did you admit that you cared for me when I ran away, if you did not want to endanger me? Would it not have been easier to maintain a farce of mere acquaintance without sharing our feelings for one another?"

"Yes, it would have been easier," he said, after a moment of silence. "But I am selfish. I want to be happy, and loving you without being able to hold you was a most miserable feeling! I felt that denying myself was clouding my judgment. And—" here he looked sheepish. "I did not think it entirely through. You have the great ability to tie my tongue!"

She half-sobbed, half-laughed. "I cannot imagine you ever acting irrationally!"

"If you intend to be my wife, you had best become accustomed to the idea. I—" Théodred's words were cut short by the door swinging open. Léofe felt brick-red at the thought of his words.

A soldier bowed to Théodred, who said, rather harshly, "What is it, Ceorl?"

"Attack, sire. Thirty miles northeast. What are your orders?"

Léofe felt very small and helpless as Théodred closed his eyes briefly before assuming the role of marshal. He stood. "Summon my éored; we have been off duty the longest. Send word that we ride in one hour. Who brought the news?" The two men left the room together, Théodred looking back at Léofe before the door to the infirmary closed behind them, with a regretful smile.


	18. Chapter 18

Théodred could feel his energy dissipate with every hoofbeat of Brego's that carried them through the great gates of the Hornburg. Another day, another return from a miserable patrol. How many years had he been on such incessant patrols? Five years? Six?

There was no welcome-cup ceremony to greet them, but Théodred was not at all surprised. With few enough servants to keep the Burg running, it was perfectly sensible for Alfrida to dispense of the farewell and welcome mead, especially with the sheer amount of soldiers coming and going from the fortress of late.

Helm, a stablehand with the enthusiasm that only a young, gangly boy could have, ran towards Théodred as he was dismounting. "Good day, sire!" he said, attempting a bow. "I can take Brego for you."

"Are you certain?" Théodred asked, feeling skeptical. "He tried to nip you last time, or have you already forgotten?"

"I have not forgotten," a shadow of a scowl surfaced on Helm's face. "Mistress Léofe told me that I should scratch Brego's chin to get him to follow me."

Théodred smiled, though it was painful with the stitches pulling at his cheek. "If Mistress Léofe said it, it must be true. Please, do take him. He needs a good rub-down."

Sure enough, Léofe's advice was sound, and a surprisingly docile Brego was happy to be led away by Helm. Théodred watched them for a moment before giving himself a mental shake and heading off to the kitchens. He had expected to see Léofe by now, at least from afar, and decided that she probably did not know he was returned. He would have to tell her himself.

She was not, however, in the kitchens—only Alfrida's pinched face greeted him when he entered. "Oh, hello," his aunt said, wiping hair from her forehead. "I did not know you had returned."

"Yes," Théodred said. "I am." He was not feeling in quite the mood to banter or carry a conversation, and clearly Alfrida was not either. He had not often seen her without a smile; she was looking unwell, despite vigorously mixing in a large bowl. She was no longer wearing a head wrap, and he surmised that the lice had been eradicated.

"Your wound looks better," she commented. "Frightful, but better."

"It is," he said, seizing this topic. "I am eager to have the stitches removed. They are most uncomfortable."

"Hmm."

"Where is your little shadow, Aunt? I am accustomed to seeing her around you; you seem most lonely."

Alfrida frowned. "Léofe? Have some tact, Théodred - if you said to her that she was my shadow, she'd cuff you across the head."

He grinned at this. "My apologies."

"Do not apologize to me. You ought to clean yourself up; I can smell you from here."

He gave her his most charming smile. "Dear Alfie! I wish to beg a hot bath."

She frowned. "I am not providing baths for soldiers. The refugees are making do with the Deeping Stream."

"I was your nephew before I was a soldier, Alfie. You do not wish me to continue to smell, do you?" Théodred knew how to charm his aunt well enough.

Alfrida sighed, and set down her task. "You will have to carry the water yourself, and it will have to be in the infirmary," she said. "We have no spare hands to be lugging a tub to your rooms."

Théodred began to feel rather guilty for putting Alfrida out this way. She was dragging her feet as much as he, unsmiling and brow-bent. Her megrims were almost disconcerting.

Footsteps were approaching from the corridor, and just as he was hauling in buckets of water to heat at the stove, Léofe entered the kitchen, saying, "Alfrida, I have a checklist of—" She caught sight of Théodred, and to his shame she paled underneath her freckles, bringing her hand to her mouth.

"I apologize for my appearance," he said at once. "I know I am not pleasing to look at. Alfie called me frightful."

"I was only being truthful," Alfrida droned.

"I—I am sorry," Léofe said, her voice hesitant. "It is not your wound—though it is ghastly—it is merely that, you were—uh—unexpected—" Théodred tried to smile at her, but with half his face out of commission he could only manage a grimace. He was rather liking the look of her in a long, brown woolen dress, with a corded belt resting on her hips. But he could not say so—Alfrida was standing nearby—and his stomach knotted. He had been away for too long!

"Did you bring the inventory?" Alfrida asked, her voice cutting through the tension.

"Oh—yes, yes!" Léofe rummaged through her reticule, pulling out a parchment with drawings and marks. She saw Théodred's curiosity, and blushed to the roots of her hair. "Ah...Alfrida has been teaching me to write," she said. "But I am not very good."

"Thank you, Léofe," Alfrida said, accepting the parchment. Her eyes widened as they travelled down. "Béma! Théodred, I am glad you are here. I can tell you straightaway that we can no longer feed any troops or refugees. There is simply not enough food."

He grimaced—this time meaning to. "We have travel rations," he said. "That will have to do. Any refugees can eat what they brought."

"But that is not fair!" Léofe objected, and Théodred and Alfrida turned to look at her. She flushed again. "I mean - many people have not brought food. They could not; often there is little warning before the wildmen or orcs attack. I came here without anything! You must not let anyone starve."

Once again, Théodred could not smile. But he was very proud of his Léofe in that moment.

"No one will starve," Alfrida assured her. "We can have at least one meal a day for anyone lacking. For a few weeks, at least."

"I will send messengers around to see if there is food to be bought," Théodred said.

"I do not think you will have any luck," Alfrida said. "We are not the only ones in the Mark struggling. We will make do. Now please excuse me—I should attend to some chores upstairs."

Their eyes locked as the lady swept from the room, and now alone, a thousand unspoken words and feelings surfaced between them. Théodred knew exactly what he wanted to say: "I missed you so much my body ached; I love you so much I feel like my heart is going to burst; I was thinking that perhaps I can smuggle you on the next patrol so I am not so lonely…"

"I—you look nice," he said, feeling like a dolt. He had never found himself lacking the right words, but somehow, with the root of his heart standing across from him, his wit was completely gone.

"Thank you," Léofe said, and smiled. He had always liked the way her smile lit up her whole face, like a sunbeam. "And please, do not think I find you unattractive because of your wound, awful as it is. Do believe me when I say I find you most handsome in spite of it!"

Théodred tried to return her smile, but could not for the tugging on his skin. Damnation! He needed those stitches removed. "I am glad to hear it," he said. "May I kiss you even with such grotesqueness glaring down at you? I would very much like to."

"If it bothers me, I will close my eyes." Léofe's characteristic frankness had him straining at his stitches again as he closed the distance between them. She felt very right in his arms, and he did not hesitate to taste her sweet lips. He could have gone on kissing her for quite some time, but a shuffling in the corridor alerted them to company, and they broke apart just before a servant entered. They stood apart awkwardly, but the woman did not seem to notice.

"I must beg privacy now," Théodred said, clearing his throat. "Will I see you for supper?"

Léofe was wringing her hands together. "Perhaps. Alfrida and I have been taking our meals in the solar. Erkenbrand works late into the night so we are usually alone."

"I will speak to Alfie," he said. "She might allow me to join you."

She was smiling, her cheeks flushing a lovely pink. "I hope she does."

"Blimey!" the servant said from the pantry. "Just kiss 'er and be done wif it. Can't stand this back n' forth nonsense. I'm gettin' nauseous here."

Pink deepened to red, and with a look of fear Léofe ran from the kitchen. Théodred bit back a groan. He considered whether he ought to ask the woman to refrain from spreading any rumors about the relationship between himself and Léofe, and then decided against it. Surely rumors already abounded; wasn't his painful scar evidence of just that?

.

.

Alfrida did agree to allow Théodred to join them for supper. The morose lines that set her face remained, and he wondered if she really was ill. Although he could not control the refugees or increased soldiers or the other issues she was undoubtedly worried about, he still felt guilty for her load. Léofe was obviously aware of Alfie's mood as well, for she went about serving the bread and pickled vegetables as if she had done so before. Théodred watched his aunt sit, hunched, in her chair and his concern grew.

"Are you well, Alfie?" he asked, accepting a portion from Léofe. She cleared her throat softly next to his ear.

"Of course I am well," Afrida said. He caught sight of Léofe sitting down by his aunt, shaking her head in his direction, her eyes wide.

"No?" Théodred's confusion grew.

"No, I said yes," Alfie's tone grew snappish.

"I apologize," he said at once. Léofe ducked her head to eat, and he finally guessed that the topic was forbidden.

Several minutes of silence followed, and then his aunt spoke again. "Your face looks much improved," she said.

"Yes. I was very pleased when a healer cut the stitches for me. He did say that I would likely carry a scar to my grave, however."

Léofe shifted in her seat.

Alfrida studied him. "It is a handsome scar, at least," she said. "Erk will be jealous."

Théodred laughed. "Then I would wish him the joy of it! I have been given a salve to rub on it twice a day to keep it clean and to help it fade. I can imagine the ribbing I will receive from my men too well."

"I do hope it smells nice, like lavender or rose," Léofe said, smiling at him. "I am sure the soldiers would appreciate that."

Alfie snorted. "Do not tease him so," she said. "Can you not see his feelings are tender at the moment?" He pulled a face, and the women laughed. "I am going to take what is left of our meal to the refugee camp, in case anyone there is hungry tonight," Alfrida said, standing. "Are you finished?"

"Yes, I thank you," Théodred said, passing to her his plate. "And I do thank you for feeding me."

"I thank you for bathing," she said. "Léofe?"

Léofe was gathering the remains of the meal together. "Can I help you to carry anything?" she asked.

"No, a little work will not lay me up," Alfrida said. "But I am thinking I will retire immediately afterwards. Could you bank the fire?"

"I will," Léofe said, and to Théodred's astonishment but also to his happiness, his aunt left and he was alone with Léofe as the door thudded shut. She blushed, avoiding his gaze.

"Now that you mention it, I am curious," he said, and pulled the tin of salve from his pocket before unlidding it. He took a sniff. "Cottonwood," Théodred said, grinning. "Harmless enough."

"May I?" At his acquiescence, Léofe smelled the salve herself and smiled. "I rather like it," she said. "It is like spring!"

"I am relieved. Would you perhaps agree to apply my first dose? Then when I am away I can have the memory of your fingers doing the task." It was so easy to make his Léofe blush! He could not help watching her as she obliged; the way her eyebrows furrowed when she was concentrating, her pursed lips, her plaits of hair slung casually over her shoulders and the way her light orange tresses glinted in the firelight. Théodred was suddenly very surprised and a little uneasy: had no other men in the Deep sought her favor? He winced as her fingers brushed across a particularly tender spot.

"I apologize," she said at once. "I am trying to be gentle. Your scar still looks painful!"

"It can be," he admitted. "And likely it will for some time. The skin needs to toughen."

Léofe's pink lips stuck out in a sympathetic pout. Théodred bit his own to keep from laughing: her tender heart was so well hidden! "Why are you laughing?" she asked, eyeing him.

"I am merely happy to be with you," he said. He clasped her empty hand with his, smiling. "Are you very sore from leaning down? I have a seat if you wish -"

A loud thud on the door made them both jump, and Léofe turned away from him as a soldier barged in. "Prince Théodred!" he boomed, bowing briefly. "There is an ongoing attack at a village six miles east."

He clenched his jaw. Was there ever a more inopportune moment? "Prepare an éored," he ordered. "I shall be there shortly." The soldier bowed again and left, shutting the door with a bang behind him. Théodred slumped and sighed, and then rose to his feet. "Léofe…"

She brushed her cheeks, lidding the salve before turning to face him with a strained smile. "See you in a week or so?" she asked.

"I will try to return sooner," he said, feeling his heart wrench. "But...I can promise nothing else. Only that I will try."

"Thank you," she whispered. Théodred drew her into his arms, hating that he had to leave her so soon. Her face tilted upwards, and he kissed her. And again. And again. She was breathing heavily, pressed up against him and he pulled away, suddenly not trusting himself.

"Farewell," he said, voice hoarse. He picked up his salve and left, sudden anger boiling at the unfairness of it all.


	19. Chapter 19

Léofe paced Théodred's study, her nervousness making her hands sweat and her stomach turn. She wrung her skirt between her hands, waiting for the tromp of his boots from the corridor.

It did not come.

She wished she had stayed in the courtyard, but had been too upset to do so. The sight of her prince covered in black blood had nearly made her swoon—had he not been walking and shouting in obviously fine health, she just might have. She had scanned the remainder of the soldiers who had ridden in behind him, wondering if there had been a large skirmish, but the number of soldiers seemed undiminished. In fact, the company looked as if it had swelled, and a broad-shouldered man rather resembling Théodred had been by his side. But none of these things turned her into the anxious wreck that she was now: it was the prince's consuming, dark anger that frightened her. But she loved him too much to stay away, and she had run straight to his study so that she could be there when he arrived and discover what had happened.

Léofe collapsed by the fireplace on trembling knees, throwing several spare logs onto the fire to coax some heat into the chilly chamber. The door opened with a bang, and she started at the sight of Théodred slamming the door shut behind him. He did not look at her as she stood.

"Why are you here?" he asked, his voice surprisingly calm as he tore at the ties on his vambraces.

"I—I wanted to see you. You seem, er, unwell."

"I am fine." His tone was hard as steel.

"Was there a battle?" Léofe was not going to be deterred. He was not himself, and it distressed her to see him so upset.

"No. We found a small scouting party, is all. A mere half-dozen orcs and wildmen to be disposed of."

She processed this information, and then asked, slowly, "Only six? Surely you needn't have involved yourself."

He lifted off his leather armor, exposing the chainmail underneath. The armor fell to the floor, and he scowled. "And why is that?"

"You have over a hundred men. I very much doubt that you are required to involve yourself in every minor skirmish." Léofe felt they'd had this discussion before, or one very similar. It irked her to have to repeat herself; was he not in the habit of listening to her? He certainly ought to be.

Théodred glared at her, his hard gaze making her heart stutter. "I highly doubt that you have any right to decide that," he drawled, and he began to pull his chain coat over his head.

You are so stubborn! And stop being so stupid! Léofe wanted to say, but she bit her tongue. "I highly doubt that you value your life as much as you should," she said, lifting her chin in the air.

"I highly doubt that my life is the encompassing issue, when my country is on the brink of war with a deranged wizard."

"Then what is the issue?" she pressed. "Why do you insist on—"

"My father is dying!" he bellowed, throwing his mail to the ground. "My father and your king, I might add, is under the spell of a wizard and his vile counsellor, and every day my cousin is drawn further into his slimy clutches. How can you say that I am important, Léofe —how can you be so selfish?"

Her lips were trembling, but she did not lower her gaze. "And what if your father does die?" she snapped. "What then? Will your life still be so disposable? You are the only one that can take responsibility—"

He cut her short with a cruel laugh. "You have been spending too much time with Alfie!"

"It would not hurt you to spend more time with her! She is—" Léofe stopped herself, very nearly betraying the lady's secret.

Théodred did not respond for a moment, sitting in a chair to tug off his boots, which thumped to the floor. "You should not be here," he said. "Éomer is going to meet me after his nag is stabled, and he must depart again tonight. I would appreciate a measure of privacy with my cousin, Léofe, if you could please oblige."

It was clearly an order, and she simmered with resentment. His mood had now overcome her own, and she stomped from the room in a haze of anger, nearly colliding with a heavy, armored body that was just outside.

"Sorry, miss!" A rumbling voice said, and Léofe saw the face of the man she had seen with Théodred in the courtyard. His cousin then. She glowered at him before stalking away.

"Béma!" Éomer said, shutting the door behind him as he entered. "What a scowl that girl has!"

Théodred was hunched over, seemingly troubled by the wooden floors. "I have done her a disservice," he muttered, mostly to himself. "In fact I have very probably ruined her life."

"Ah, who is she exactly?" Éomer said, trying for cheeriness despite, well, everything. He did not like seeing his cousin so distraught.

"Léofe," Théodred said, her name a sigh. He rubbed the back of his neck, still not lifting his eyes from the ground.

"Béma—that was—?"

"Yes."

Éomer stared, torn between laughter and shock. "Did you—I mean to say, are you—?"

"She and I have an understanding, yes."

"Béma!"

Théodred looked up, looking intently at Éomer. "Please tell no one. I have endangered her enough already here; if word of this gets back to Edoras—"

"You can trust me!" Éomer said. "I doubt any of my men shall even notice, especially if you are at odds with her."

Théodred groaned, rubbing his forehead and smearing in some of the dirt from the road. "I do hate upsetting her."

"I doubt she likes to be upset by you. I nearly shriveled to ashes under her fiery gaze."

The prince glared at Éomer, who shrugged innocently. "I believe that Léofe is not one of our concerns to discuss," he said. "Might we move on? Time is precious."

"As you say. But I reserve the right to tease you later."

Théodred sighed heavily. "I expect nothing less. Did you bring the notes from Hama?"

.

.

Léofe hesitated, her fist hovering over the door to Théodred's study. Though she knew his cousin was long gone (having watched the marshal and his éored depart several hours earlier, much to Alfrida's relief), she remained unsure of whether she would be welcomed. Her own anger had ebbed somewhat, but had Théodred's? While she had seen him in a temper once before, she had not worsened it then.

She faltered. What if he did not wish to see her? No. She could not consider it. Though her mind wished to explore the very worst possibilities, she would not allow it to. She could not.

Léofe rapped softly on the door. No response came, and she gently lifted the latch to peek into the room.

Théodred was snoring in his chair, his arms folded and his head leaned against the back. He had taken the time to wash, and his hair was damp as it fell back, unrestrained and glinting golden in the dying firelight. Papers were strewn across the desk, and his armor was still lying where he had dropped it earlier. Béma, he really was upset! Never before had Léofe seen him anything other than meticulous.

She bit her lip, and then sidled into the room, closing the door softly behind her. He did not stir. She walked over to the cot in the corner, stripping it of its blanket. It was not very large, and she did her best to cover Théodred's unmoving form. He still did not wake. Léofe sighed. There was also a kettle, which she filled with clean water from the washstand and hung over the fire, intending to return after fetching some tea. If he was still angry with her, she could only hope that he did not see her . . .

A mumble sounded from the prince, and before Léofe could make her escape, he opened his eyes, looking around blearily before focusing on her with a start. His sudden movement made her jump back.

"Blast, Léofe!" he said. "You gave me a fright."

"It was returned!" she snapped, forgetting to be kind as she tried to calm her racing heart.

Théodred pinched the bridge of his nose, breathing out deeply as the blanket fell from his shoulders. "Léofe..." he began.

"I was on my way out," she interrupted. "I am sorry for intruding, I simply wished to—" She stopped here, suddenly unsure of what to say. Had she been so invasive towards Théodred's personal life before? She could not recall such an instance; there had always been a certain boundary between them, and she was apprehensive of how he would respond.

"Come sit," he said, holding out a hand to her. Her stream of thoughts ended, and she took his hand. To her surprise, Théodred tugged her to him and she half-fell into his lap. He wrapped the blanket around her, too, and his arms clasped her tightly around the waist. "I am sorry," he said. "I was a bastard. I may try to justify myself by blaming the skirmish, or my anxieties, or a hundred other things; but it cannot erase my unkindness. Nay, my brutality!" His eyes caught hers, and Léofe felt her heart stutter to see his anguish. "You deserve better than I, dear heart, but I must beg of you—do not leave me!"

"You were a bit of a brute," Léofe admitted, lifting her hand to trace the frown of his lips with her thumb. Béma, he was irresistible! "But I do forgive you. You have been patient with me; I am happy to return the favor."

He smiled, pulling her closer. "I have indeed been patient with you," he said, adopting a long-suffering expression. "You are a rather difficult woman to come to know. For the life of me I could not decide if you liked me or hated me, when we first met."

"Both," Léofe smiled. "It would be advisable not to think too much of it."

"What a war you have waged on my self-esteem!" Théodred said, lifting the end of one of her braids to tickle her nose. "At my advanced age I ought to be far more sure of myself, but alas!"

She bit her lip to keep from giggling, snuggling in closer. "Advanced age? You are acting as if you could be my grandfather," she teased.

He paused, and then repeated in a serious voice, "It would be advisable not to think too much of it." Léofe lifted her head, surprised to see the smile gone from Théodred's face. He coughed, and then said, avoiding her gaze, "I am nearly twice your age, dear girl. Though if you had not considered this an issue before now, perhaps I should not have spoken…"

She closed her eyes as she leaned her head back on his shoulder, listening to his steady breathing as she thought about his words. He still fingered the end of her plait, and her skin tingled. "It does not bother me," she said at last. "And it still would not if our roles were reversed."

Théodred lifted her chin, taking no pause before his lips descended on hers. Her arms travelled around his neck, keeping his close as he continued to press her body into his. Léofe felt her body shudder in waves of pure pleasure, and she could not stop the moan that escaped her. His fingers dug into her waist, and her breath heightened in a gasp. They broke apart, and she stared as he exhaled sharply, his features looking drawn and hungry.

"I do not recall the chamber being this warm," she said, feeling foolish as she touched her flushed cheeks, which were hot under her fingertips.

"You have only yourself to blame," he murmured, though he smiled.

Léofe tried to calm herself, wringing her hands together. How could he look so serene! She felt disconcerted and bothered from her head to her toes. "I think it is late," she said. "I ought to leave."

"Do you think so?"

"I—er, suppose that I do."

"Alfie does not keep you on a strict curfew?" Théodred's smile and warm gaze was making her fumble her words.

"No, certainly not!"

"Then stay."

"I could not."

"Not even to keep me company? I have a dreadfully long night of work ahead; I would appreciate your presence."

Léofe eyed him. "You wish me to stay the night with you?"

He traced her jawline with a long finger. "I wish you to stay with me forever."

She felt like melting. Though she was fairly certain he did not intend to sound so seductive, she felt half-ravished already from his heated gaze. And truthfully, the thought of...coupling with him made her feel nervous and shaky, and her cheeks flushed. He must have noticed, for a look of alarm passed on his face. "Léofe! I did not mean that. You wicked girl…" Théodred was laughing, and Léofe joined him after another moment of discomfort. "When we are married, dear heart," he said, and kissed her nose before depositing her on the ground, her legs thankfully no longer trembling. "Will you stay, then, even without any…"

"Yes," she said. "I will stay."


	20. Chapter 20

Léofe stirred slowly, as she often did, taking her time to enjoy the bridge between sleep and wakefulness. It was a luxury denied to her for the majority of her life, and she did not feel at all selfish for indulging herself now. Why should she not? She could feel her nose peeking out above the quilts, rather cold. She could smell...she could smell…

Her eyes flew open, her heart hammering. Grey dawn light shone in the room, and she could see the features of Théodred's study; desk, hearth, sideboard, fur rugs and rich tapestries. Why, she was smelling Théodred, of course! His special, musky scent that made her heart race faster. She must be in the cot in his study.

A snore sounded beside her, and she startled so violently that her arms flew up and smacked her unknown companion, who yelped. "Blimey!" Théodred's voice groaned. "Next time, a tap on the shoulders will suffice!"

Léofe gasped. "Oh! I am sorry, I did not know you were there!"

He was rubbing his cheek now, smiling ruefully at her with groggy eyes. He was laying beside her, but on top of the quilts that were keeping her so cozy. How cold he must be! "Why did you not go to your bed?" she demanded, knowing full well that his bedchamber was connected to the study.

"I did not know that I would be assaulted awake!"

"Théodred!"

His brows creased as he studied her with groggy eyes. "I never sleep in my bed," he said at last. "The lock on the door of by bedchamber is broken."

"Fix it." Léofe remained put out from her fright.

Théodred shrugged, leaning back down and closing his eyes. "It is simpler to leave it. I do not wish to be stabbed in my sleep, you know, and I am not guaranteed to notice an assailant. Case in point," he said, opening one eye to glower at her. "My study is safer. Or was, until you decided to stay the night."

"You asked me to!"

"I thought you would leave before you fell asleep on my desk," he said, and shifted so that he could throw an arm around her heavily blanketed torso.

"Oh." Now that he voiced it, Léofe could remember the previous night. Théodred had been focused on studying a set of antiquated maps, and was generous to give her spare parchment and a quill to practice her letters. She must have nodded off sometime later.

"You still have ink on your nose, dear heart," he murmured close to her ear.

Léofe rubbed her nose self-consciously. "You could at least have covered yourself," she said. "You must be half-frozen!"

"I am not," Théodred said. "I am accustomed to sleeping in the cold."

"Poor dear," Léofe said, and reached out a finger to touch his chilly cheek with a warm finger. His eyes peeked open.

"Is your next order that I ought to shave?"

"I never order." She took her time to feel his prickly chin, smiling at she saw his dimples begin to surface.

"Perhaps not in word, but in meaning you certainly do," Théodred said, his voice sounding hoarse. "Béma, Léofe, you are testing my self-control!"

"Me? That cannot be."

He lifted his head and pulled her close to him, quilts and all, before planting a serious of light kisses across her face, making her laugh from the sensation. Then his hold on her tightened, and his mouth captured hers with a fervidness that made her tingle all the way down to her toes.

A pounding at the door made them both start. "Elfhelm has arrived and wishes to meet with you, Lord," came a call from the outside. "He is waiting in the hall, but sent ahead a report."

Théodred inhaled sharply and broke away from her, his face flushed, but the fading footsteps of the soldier showed that they would not be discovered. "It is high time for you to leave," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Linger with me longer, Elfhelm will wait!"

"Minx," he said affectionately, and left the cot, much to her disappointment. He paused by the door, and then bent to pick up a single piece of parchment from the floor.

"What is it?" she asked, keeping herself wrapped in his blanket as she stood as well, intending to warm herself by the fire now that he was gone from her side.

Théodred did not respond, reading intently what was written on the parchment. He had been stiff and unmoving for several moments before Léofe walked to him and embraced him from behind, frowning as she felt the rigidity of his muscles. "What is it?" she asked once more.

The crinkling of the paper seemed loud as he crumpled it in his fist. "Nothing," he said, too quickly.

"Surely it cannot be nothing," she said lightly. "Otherwise you would not be affected so."

Théodred turned to her, clasping her hands within his own. His eyes were shining brightly, but in a way that she was unfamiliar with. "An idea has come to me," he said. "We might have a private troth-plighting in a few days. It would hearten me greatly, and I am sure that you would be pleased as well."

Uncontainable giddiness overtook Léofe with a vengeance, and she bit her lip to keep from smiling too widely. "Oh—yes, of course! I would certainly love that."

"Excellent," he said, and pulled away from her. "I shall write to Éomer directly—he will preside the ceremony for us. I would want for none other."

"Very well," she said, becoming confused now as he sat down at his desk and pulled a blank piece of parchment to him and began writing. He was not speaking, solely focusing on the hasty scribbles. Léofe began to feel odd about Théodred's behavior. "Are you certain all is well?" she asked gently, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Well enough. If Éomer can arrive within a week, I will declare you mine before I must leave again. You will be well cared for after that."

"By whom?" Léofe asked, piqued. "From your tone, it does not sound like you intend to do the caring."

Théodred lifted her hand, kissing the palm before looking her steadily in the eyes. "I will care for you with my every remaining breath," he said. "Though perhaps not every minute of the day, as I might hope, until after the threat is removed."

Léofe frowned.

"Have hope!" he said. "We will persevere: with such men as Éomer and Erkenbrand defending the Mark, we cannot lose!"

"And you," Léofe reminded him.

He gave her a wry smile. "And I, I suppose. Though I have not the energy of Éomer nor the strength of Erkenbrand."

"Perhaps not. But you have the duty of protecting your people, which you will never neglect. You are tireless and courageous, Théodred! You are the match of any man, and likely their superior."

He sighed, but his smile lingered. "I will remember your words, dear heart. If you believe in me, I surely can make a difference. Now you must leave before the Keep awakens and someone sees you here."

Léofe dipped her head to kiss him, pulling the blanket around her shoulders and pressing it into his hands. "Fare well, Théodred."

It was too early to be awake but too late to return to sleep. Léofe yawned as she trudged down the corridor, the uneasiness brought on by Théodred's strange mood lingering. She stopped in her own chamber to fetch a cloak. Spurred on by her whirling thoughts, she made the trek into the grey dawn and walked onto the paraphets.

The yard below was full of early morning noises; dogs yapping, children crying, the clanging of pots for a meal, and an occasional argument. There were far more people in the Deep than there ought to be. Close living quarters were straining the peace, and Léofe thanked her lucky stars for her private chamber in the fortress. She yawned again and turned her back to the yard, leaning forward on a stone wall to stare at the expanse of the dead valley that led to the Deep. It was devoid of life; unsurprising considering the apparent and imminent invasion. But this was the first day in many that there were no refugees fleeing their homes, and no éoreds or scouts were on the road. Léofe shivered, the eerie feeling unsettling her. A crow cawed, and a wailing cry came from the camp.

"We have had better winters."

She jumped, pulling her cloak tight as Erkenbrand leaned down next to her, following her gaze across the barren terrain. Unsure of how to respond, Léofe, turned her head away. It surprised her that he was not with Théodred and Elfhelm, but she could not say so. He might question how she came to her knowledge.

"Spring is a much more pleasant season here in the mountains," Erkenbrand continued. "Everything is green! Of course, Alfie likes to find her herbs in the mountains; we used to have such fun when we were younger, taking trips into the forests by ourselves." He suddenly gave her a wolfish grin, and she blushed. They stood in silence for a few moments longer, the light from the rising sun giving the valley more of a golden hue. "So," Erkenbrand said again. "You could not sleep either?"

"I slept," Léofe said. "Only it deserted me very early today."

He grunted. "Same for me. I am afraid to say it, but Alfie snores when she is with child. My sleep has been rather lacking of late."

Léofe smiled to herself. Even with Alfrida's contagious despair that her pregnancy would end in tragedy as her others had, Erkenbrand's casual attitude was humorous. It made her heart ache, anxious for the day when she and Théodred might have the same comforts in living. The ache sharpened.

"I do not think I had a chance to tell you," Erkenbrand said, changing topics once more. "I am sorry that your father died. I appreciated his friendship and hospitality, all those months ago."

A lump rose in her throat. She tried not to think of Gerdhelm, the pain still stinging too much for her to cope with. Théodred's love had been a welcome distraction from any reminders that her home and family were quite decimated. "I—thank you," she said lamely. "It is kind of you to say."

"It is necessary for me to say. And if Théodred has not told you—he enjoyed visiting your farm immensely as well. I rather think he insisted on riding by more often than necessary!" He laughed then, an echoing guffaw that startled Léofe. "I wondered if he was soft on you," Erkenbrand added after a moment. "He never showed very much interest in a woman until he bought Brego. Say, did you know his father considered arranging a marriage between him and a Gondorian princess? It was years ago—"

Léofe interrupted, feeling a little sick. "You are a gossip!" she said, deciding that an offense was the best course with a man like Erkenbrand. "Does Alfrida know you spend your spare time yapping like an old woman?"

He stared at her for a moment, then roared with laughter once more. "I stand corrected!" he chortled. "And I beg your pardon for filling your ears with nonsense."

"I should go," she said. "My, ah, help may be needed elsewhere."

"Good day, mistress!" Erkenbrand bowed his head to her, his wide grin following her as she tried not to stalk away, thereby betraying herself.

She was crossing the courtyard when a clamor rose up, and she rushed to the stairs to avoid being trampled by a mess of riders entering from the stables. Théodred was at the head, fully armed and looking tired, though he gave her a small smile as he hailed her. "Have you seen Erk?" he asked, reining in Brego to a halt.

Léofe pointed back the way she came, drinking in the sight of him. A tall, ginger-haired man with an impressive beard, who rode beside the prince, looked down at her as if noticing her for the first time and nodded a greeting. She glowered. Was this Elfhelm, who had come to take Théodred from her? What a rotter.

Despite a cold wind that began to blow in, she stayed in the courtyard for several minutes while Théodred finished his business, not wishing to lose a moment of his presence, even if it was not devoted to her. Eventually he took his leave of Erkenbrand, who was scowling. The noise multiplied as Théodred returned to the crowd of soldiers, and the snorting horses and solemn men began to pass through the gate.

Léofe sighed as she lost sight of Théodred, and turned towards the Keep.


	21. Chapter 21

How much more slowly could the days pass?

Somehow—despite the massive influx of chores—each day felt like a lifeage. Léofe dragged herself through preparing meals, seeing that the refugees had something to eat, delegating other duties to the last few servants, and caring for Alfrida, who was becoming more ill as tensions rose higher in the Deep. Even Erkenbrand was beginning to show strain; his face now seemed permanently lined with worry. Somehow the last months had completely transformed the Hornburg from a bustling, cheery place into a full-on barracks with anxiety thick in the air. Every day begun with Léofe hoping to hear from Théodred or to see him riding through the gate—and everyday she was bitterly disappointed as he remained absent.

Almost she wished the wizard would get his invasion over with; the waiting was by far a far worse punishment than open war, or at least as she understood it.

The day that Théodred did return felt like both a relief and deepening dread at once. With him came Elfhelm, and about three extra éoreds, called from their homes across the Mark. That was the difficult sight, but receiving a smile from Théodred as she lingered in the courtyard, watching as he dismounted Brego, was a welcome balm to her soul, and the past days of misery seemed to evaporate in an instant.

And by the evening, the lump of heavy misery had returned to her heart once more, for she had no chance to speak to him alone.

A table had been set up in the hall for the closest of Théodred's advisors; Elfhelm, Gamling, Erkenbrand, and an old man called Grimbold who had been overseeing the extra soldiers in the barracks. Alfrida had sent a loitering stablehand to take travel rations to the men, and recruited Léofe to help her to prepare something better for them to eat later. The lady explained in forceful words that she was not going to bother to serve any better food until the following day.

"Ungrateful, unthinking men!" she said, throwing lumps of fresh goat meat into a large pot on the iron stove, Léofe watching in bemusement as she scrounged around a few barrels for extra vegetables. "If they had wanted a hot meal, they would have warned me! They cannot be so distracted as to not send word ahead, and then demand victuals as soon as they return! I cannot conjure food out of thin air!" This was in reference to Elfhelm, who had done the folly of asking Alfrida upon his arrival, when the next meal would be served.

Léofe privately did not think very well of Elfhelm; not only because he was demanding upon Alfrida or because he always seemed to arrive at the inopportune times to take Théodred away from her. She had seen very few recommendations for his character—no kindness, no humor—only a gruffness and a never-ending flow of expectations. As she considered it; a few wrinkled parsnips and potatoes busying her hands but not her mind—she decided that she could forgive him a little, for those very qualities probably made him indispensable to her Théodred. Anyone whom Théodred trusted, she could too. But she could certainly still think Elfhelm an imbecile.

Bread-making kept her up until past midnight. A few hours earlier, Alfrida had deflated from all her work and Léofe had sent her to bed, promising to finish with the meal before she herself turned in. In the silent kitchen, with nearly everyone in the Keep asleep, she could hear echoes from the hall, though she understood none of the words. But the tone was clear—it was not a pleasant conversation, and as the hours crept by she felt that the stone walls were becoming tighter around her, and not in a way that made her feel safe.

When she did sleep that night, her dreams were full of dark, whispering shapes that reached out cold, shadowy fingers towards where her heart beat frantically in her chest.

.

.

Dawn was announced by the awakening of people in the Deep and their activities, rather than the sun. Léofe did not feel rested when she finally pulled herself out of bed, the covers mussed from her tossing and turning.

Alfrida was already in the kitchens when Léofe entered, yawning as she tied an apron round her waist. "There is bread for our breakfast," the lady said. "I also fetched a jelly from the cellar; I think we deserve a little reward for our work! Though it was you that carried most of the load."

"I am sure I did not," Léofe protested, though she was very grateful for the fresh bread and tea which they ate together, sitting at a low table.

Alfrida was quiet as she stirred her own tea. "The men have been awake all night," she said at last. "It makes me ill to think of the growing threat that keeps them from seeking their rest."

Léofe tried hard to swallow past the lump in her throat, having to resort to a sip of scalding tea to force the bread down. "If they were awake all night, then surely they have prepared enough to keep the land safe."

"We can only hope. Now, the stew has been simmering all night, I think even that tough old goat should be edible at last. Let us take it up!"

"Up?" Léofe asked. "Are they not in the hall?"

"No—they moved to Théodred's study. I believe they found the hall far too public to be discussing their plans there."

Léofe followed Alfrida into the study on the pretext of carrying more refreshment, and once she was there, she saw no reason to leave. Afrida was staying, after all, and with the passionate and angry conversation carrying on, Léofe was not noticed. A half-dozen armored and riled up men were unlikely to see a slip of a girl anyway.

It was an unrecognizable room. Once tidy and sparse, several extra tables had been brought in which were now covered in maps, various parchments, empty tankards and crumbs. There was even a dog snoozing by the fireplace, belonging to Elfhelm. He was the loudest of them all, but the dog did not stir.

Léofe did not like it. It seemed like Théodred's space had been invaded. Though from the conversation, it seemed as if far more was about to be invaded. She sunk into the shadows, listening intently.

"No! I need you to fetch reinforcements," the prince was saying, trying to speak over Elfhelm's protests. "Alert Éomer and gather the éoreds which are available."

"I should be there with you," Elfhelm growled.

"You are to follow orders, Elfhelm! Ride back to the Deep with all haste; there will be instructions waiting for you."

"Can you be sure of that, lad?"

Théodred's face was set in stone. "If there is no message, go straight to the Fords. Erk will be on the lookout for my scouts."

"You need me at the Fords!" Erkenbrand burst out, his face turning red. "I beg of you, do not leave me here to play housekeeper—"

Léofe caught sight of Alfrida's face, which was one to behold! The lady looked as if she wanted to give her husband a good rap on the knuckles for that comment, but as she was currently pouring ale for Grimbold, she settled for a black scowl, which went unnoticed.

"You are not playing housekeeper," Théodred cut in. "You overseeing the reinforcements to the Deeping Wall, and you are the last defense of the Keep. I trust it to none other."

Erkenbrand's lips disappeared into a thin line, obviously still unhappy about his assignment.

"That will leave Grimbold and I," the prince continued. "I will take the vanguard, Grimbold the rear. Three éoreds under my command, Grimbold, you have three as well. There will be two éoreds left for you, Erk. Then again, you may have the easier task, Béma willing." A ghost of a smile appeared on his face, which was returned by none of the company present. Léofe felt slightly ill. "Grimbold and I will attack at the first opportunity; Elfhelm, you will be our reinforcement. As long as my message is delivered to Éomer, he will come as well, barring any interference from Edoras, and we may have a chance to keep the Fords. We shall have to hold for several days, at least." Grimbold was nodding, looking grim. Erkenbrand was still furious, and Elfhelm looked frustrated.

"You do not have enough soldiers to hold for several days," Elfhelm said, his voice rising. "Erkenbrand and I should ride with you!"

"No! These are my orders!" Théodred barked, his hand a fist on the table. "If we all go now, what if we lose? The wizard's army will meet no resistance, and our lands will be razed. First the Deep, and then Edoras. We cannot leave our people so vulnerable."

Alfrida was looking pale, but Léofe could imagine her relief that for now, Erkenbrand would be safe. If only Léofe could claim such comfort as well!

"We must ride through the night. We will camp about five miles south of the Fords; that will leave us with enough space to sleep safely tonight, and close enough that our attack in the morning may begin swiftly."

Léofe covered her mouth, willing her tears to stay in her eyes. It did not work.

"This is our best chance at beating the wizard," Théodred said intently, his tone lowered. "We could perhaps hold him back here, or at Edoras, but I do not like the chances. And I do not like bringing the battle to our homes and our families." His eyes darted to Léofe, and she blushed before he quickly looked away. Obviously she had not been invisible as she had hoped.

"Aye," Erkenbrand grumbled. "It will be as you say."

"As you say," Grimbold echoed.

"As you say." Elfhelm remained exceptionally displeased.

"Théodred," Alfrida interrupted. "Do you have orders for us?"

Théodred looked at her, as if seeing her for the first time, and caught Léofe's eyes again. "You ought to prepare for the wounded. Hundreds, probably. I might also suggest enlisting the help of the refugees."

Alfrida nodded. "So it shall be."

He continued to study her, his brows creased. "I am sorry for turning your home into a barracks, Aunt," he said.

"It was built to be a barracks, you dolt! I will certainly manage my own feelings about it, especially if it means that we are safe," Alfrida said, and then she paused. "Do you truly believe that we will be attacked here?"

"I pray that our defense of the Fords will be enough, but we must prepare for any eventuality." Silence descended on the room, and the dog snorted in its sleep. Théodred cleared his throat. "Eat up then, I ordered the Riders to be ready at noon. Grimbold, you may have to ride out first; my mount may not be finished getting reshod at the smithy."

"Léofe," Alfrida said as low talking broke out, and the food began to disappear. "Will you fetch all the healers available? You might also spread word through the refugees; we may be fortunate enough to be hosting a few others."

No! Léofe wanted to shout. She wanted to remain, to perhaps to speak to Théodred. But his attention was already monopolized by an arguing Elfhelm, and so she forced a smile, ducking out of the room.

It must have been very close to noon; lines upon lines of soldiers were already in the courtyard, though they were a mess. Still unmounted, most were surrounded by women who were offering greenery strands, weaving them into the horse's saddles and manes for luck. Being winter, flowers were in short supply, and wild spruce and pine branches were poor substitute. But it was all that the people had to offer, apart from many tears, and possibly even more kisses. _No better time to tell someone you love them, then when they are about to die_ , Léofe thought bitterly. She saw one man holding his pregnant wife close, a small child on his shoulders as his wife wept. Léofe turned her head away, unwilling to watch as her stomach turned in knots.

There were three healers in their brown robes, eating a sparse luneon in the infirmary just off of the kitchen. Trunks were spread out and thrown open, an inventory apparently already begun. Léofe informed them that they were to meet with the lady as soon as the armies rode, and asked them as well to search out any more healers among the refugees. She did not wish to do such a task at all, not since the lice debacle.

Léofe wandered back to the courtyard, hoping to see Théodred again before he departed. The wind was brisk, and she tightened her shawl around her shoulders. She watched as Grimbold mounted his own horse, the foremost éored already having done so. Quite a crowd was gathering, and more wreaths were being thrown to the Riders. The front gates groaned open, and horns begin to whine in the still air. The hot breath of the horses was rising in clouds, and at Grimbold's order, the first éored marched through the gate. Cries from the watching refugees joined the horns. The second éored rode.

Léofe saw with interest as Elfhelm came hurtling down the stairs from the living quarters, looking put out. He bellowed for his horse, which a squire brought posthaste. He was accompanied by only a half-dozen riders, presumably for speed, and they passed through the gates in front of the third éored at a gallop. She began to bite her fingernails, wondering what was keeping Théodred. Should she try to find him in the smithy? The last éoreds were beginning to mount their horses; the last of the women and well-wishers filtering out of the ranks to watch the exodus.

At last murmurs began to hum through the crowd, and she stood on her toes to see Théodred, fully-armed and looking solemn, leading a tired Brego. Léofe frowned as a heavy woman stepped in front of her, and she shouldered past to the front of the line, her lip beginning to tremble.

The last of the éoreds still had their loved ones lingering nearby, as Théodred made final adjustments to Brego's saddle and gear. Léofe took a breath, and walked forward. After all, Brego had been her horse, it was not completely out-of-line for her to farewell the stallion. She could sense Théodred stiffen as she stroked Brego's ears and kissed his nose.

"Once again, I find myself rather jealous," the prince said quietly.

Léofe felt a lump harden in her throat, and she could not respond; a squeak being the only sound she could manage. Théodred turned to her, and smiled. She ducked her head away, unable to meet his eyes. A horn sounded, and she heard him sigh before mounting Brego, who stamped his feet as Léofe lost her hold on his bridle. She heard wailing from the crowd.

"Well," Théodred said, and Léofe met his eyes. "Well."

She swallowed, still unable to articulate what she was feeling. "Farrr…" she tried. "Farwe…."

He sighed again, and held out his hands. "Well, come on then." Léofe took his proffered hands, and to her astonishment he grasped her arms and hauled her upward and across Brego's back, until she rested on Théodred's lap. She was tucked snugly in his arms, and before she could recover he planted a very long, very passionate kiss on her lips. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and her dizzy mind could only comprehend how badly she wished to never let him go.

Théodred broke away, his breath warming her chilled cheeks. Dimly she heard nothing from the people nearby and wondered why. His nose nuzzled hers, and she whimpered. "I should have married you long ago," he said. "I am sorry, dear heart. If I had known…"

"Yes, you should have," Léofe tried to scowled at him, but felt far too tired.

He was frowning. "What say you...to when I return? I think it is time we disregard any danger; after all, you have been unsafe enough. When you are my wife I might protect you better."

"The minute you return," she said. "Not a moment later!"

"Dear heart…" A half-smile crossed his face, the very one that made Léofe's heart skip every time. "I love you."

"I love you, Théodred! Be safe."

He kissed her again, and then helped her to slide from Brego's back. She retrieved her fallen shawl, bundling herself again as she caught sight of flurries in the air. Once again the horns sounded, and Léofe stumbled backward as the horses began to move. Théodred lifted his hand to farewell her, and then turned away to the gate, leading his men into the grey mist below.

One voice, and then another, picked up an old song that sounded familiar but that Léofe could not quite place in her memory, and her ears burned.

_Oh, now I am a soldier,  
_ _My captain's gone before;  
_ _And I hear the trumpet sound in that morning.  
_ _He's given me my orders,  
_ _And bids me never give over;  
_ _And I hear the trumpet sound in that morning._

_Through grace I feel determined  
_ _To conquer, tho' I die,  
_ _I shall hear the trumpet sound in that morning.  
_ _And all the valiant soldiers  
_ _Eternally shall live,  
_ _I shall hear the trumpet sound in that morning._

_Farewell to life and sorrow,  
_ _I bid them both adieu!  
_ _As I hear the trumpet sound in that morning.  
_ _And O, my friends, prove faithful  
_ _And on your way pursue.  
_ _As I hear the trumpet sound in that morning..._


	22. Chapter 22

There was not even a moment to catch her breath before Léofe was called elsewhere.

A handful of volunteers, led by Alfrida, were lugging and unloading trunk after trunk into the hall. "From the cellar," the lady explained, pulling a set of keys from her reticule to begin opening the trunks. "This is what is left from Erk's wedding gift to me."

This was not what Léofe had any notion of expecting, and when the heavy lid was lifted she could only stare at the pile of clean, white linens. "Wedding gift?" she asked, dumbfounded. "But—"

"Erk was very generous. He over-estimated how many linens and candelabras I would need as lady of the Keep." Alfrida straightened, sending Léofe a pained smile. "At least, that is what I believed. I am thankful for the excess now."

"But—why?"

"Bandages." Alfrida moved onto the trunk, unlocking that one as well as she continued. "The healers we have are refugees; they brought no supplies. If we want to help the wounded, we must use what we already have."

"But—your wedding gift! This is a barracks, should there not be the necessary supplies on hand already?"

The lady glanced at her. "There are supplies, but they are disappearing fast; what with the increased soldiers riding in from skirmishes and wounded refugees from the past months. And it matters far more to me that we can provide care for those that will need it than to keep an unused wedding gift intact."

Léofe bit her tongue, understanding the wisdom of Alfrida's words, but the thought of a wedding gift used to treat wounded soldiers made her heart ache. Béma—what if Théodred was one of the wounded? Her stomach knotted, and nausea clouded her senses.

"Come, we will prepare them together," Alfrida said, sounding calm as she unlocked the last of the trunks. "It will make the task that much faster."

No matter how Alfrida spun the tale, tearing linens into bandages made for a very arduous afternoon. It took very little thought, leaving the women to their own musings. Léofe was not happy to allow her mind its liberty—the imminent invasion made her shaky and ill. Alfrida was obviously no better off, for her forehead was pinched and her lips had disappeared into a thin line as she tore the linens with a significant amount of aggression. They were joined by others, but their moods were not any better, and the hall was thick and silent with tension.

The doors to the hall were thrown open, and Erkenbrand strode through with a face like thunder. "Alfie!" he bellowed, and the paused as he saw that she was standing rather near to him. "Sorry," he added, much lower, though his voice still boomed. "I cannot find the blasted tools for the Deeping Wall repairs—I looked in carpenter's shop and in the storage cupboards all along the lower level."

Alfrida was weaving through bandage-makers to approach him. "I am sure you did not find them there," she said. "We had to move nearly everything into the caves to make room for people."

"Damn right! I have been searching for upwards of an hour."

"Erk!" Alfrida scolded. "You know better than to swear in mixed company!"

Erkenbrand looked very much like a man who wanted a rousing row, and Léofe looked away, thinking that perhaps Théodred should have given him an assignment elsewhere; anything would be better than him fighting with his wife! She was sure she had never seen him in such a state before—he was usually so well-humored. Alfrida had reached him by this point, and their conversation was continued in whispers, though a whisper for Erkenbrand was a raised tone for a normal person. Léofe could hear his words, though she did not want to.

"How am I supposed to get the wall repaired in time—and reinforced, too!—if you hide all the materials from me! The little time we have will be spent running around looking for hammers!" A pause. "No, Alfie, I do not remember you informing me that the storage rooms were emptied." Another pause. "Yes, I was there, but I do not remember! Béma, woman, I am an aging man and I cannot possibly retain everything you say to me! It is an awful lot!" Alfrida's subsequent growl could be heard, and Léofe, her eyes burning as she tried to keep her focus on the linen in front of her, thought she heard the lady stamp her foot.

"You have always been terrible at organizing things, Erk!" Alfrida's voice has risen to an audible tone in exasperation, and Léofe wished it had not. "Why—you should roll bandages and I will see to the wall!"

"Do not start that, woman! Théodred gave his orders and I will see them through."

Alfrida let out of huff of air. "You have never given Théodred's orders priority before; suddenly they are so worthy of being upheld?"

"They have never been so important. Béma, Alf—do not tell him I said that! I will search the caves—I am going now!" The stomping of Erkenbrand's heavy footfall back through the front door could be heard. When the door thudded shut behind him, the entire hall seemed to let out a breath. Léofe paused rolling her bandages, the sick feeling that had been plaguing her intensifying. If this was enough to make Erkenbrand and Alfrida argue…

Tears blurred her eyes as she forced herself to concentrate, and for the hundredth she wished Théodred was there to give her the comfort and hope she so desperately wanted.

.

.

In a sense of well-meaning (but ill-advised, Léofe thought to herself) charity, Alfrida dismissed the remainder of the servants to be with their families. All the refugees were welcome to use the Deep's facilities but they had to do the work themselves. This included the lady and Léofe as well, and after months of reprieve from her least favorite chores, Léofe was forced into self-sufficiency once more.

How she hated to wash clothing!

Léofe glowered at the dirty water as she dragged her sopping petticoat in and out, in and out along the washboard. The frigid water had stiffened and reddened her hands long ago, and it was only the sheer force of determination (that and not wishing to appear weak to Alfrida, who had her own washtub nearby) that kept her moving. She was splattered with the water, and it had soaked through all the layers she wore, as if its express purpose were to chill her skin. That the laundry was set up in the courtyard, where every stir of wind made her shiver, was plain bad luck—the private laundry chamber in the Keep was housing refugees, even with the weather never improving beyond moody. The entire ordeal was a uniquely torturous experience, and she paused, wiping hair from her face as she considered wearing the same clothing for the next several weeks.

"Do you hear that?" Alfrida's voice cut through her miserable thoughts, and Léofe raised her head to listen closely.

"No," she said after a moment. "What was it?"

"I thought I heard a rider approaching on the causeway."

Léofe shrugged, and returned her hands to the freezing water with a grimace. But then—a huge bang, and the front gates swung open. She dropped her petticoat in the water, splashing herself further.

"It must be Elfhelm," Alfrida said, wringing out the clothing she had been washing posthaste. "He intended to stop here before continuing on to Théodred."

Erkenbrand was hurtling up the stairs from where he had been overseeing repairs to the wall, obviously having heard the gate as well. But the guest was a disappointment—only a single, dirty and exhausted rider entered, his mount plodding along with a limp. Léofe tensed as she dried her hands; how could the man have ridden his horse in such a state! Nothing could warrant such cruelty to a horse!

The man looked up, seeing Erkenbrand, and calling in a loud but trembling voice, "The prince is dead. The Fords remain ours, but the prince is dead. The losses...are irreplaceable. We were...we were ambushed and outmatched; the wizard was cunning…"

Léofe gripped the edge of the washtub with a trembling hand, her ears ringing as the world around her seemed to turn to haze. No! She forced herself to focus. She had clearly misheard the man; there was no possibility that Théodred could be dead! He was too skilled a fighter; he had said they would marry when he returned…

She blinked several times, the man's slumping figure in the saddle sharpening, and Erkenbrand caught him before he fell onto the stone ground. A blur that was surely Alfrida was collapsed by the washtub, leaning her head against the rim, and—was she weeping? There was no need, Théodred could not be dead—he could not—

Léofe's knees buckled, and the tub upended and doused her with freezing water as she pulled it downwards with her. The voices and cries around her began to muffle, and she shook her head to try to clear it, but it worsened her dizziness, and she sunk to the ground in a dead faint.

.

.

She was racing down the Hornburg's corridors as fast as her legs to move, which was not fast. Oddly she could barely lift her feet, as if some outside resistance was keeping her from reaching the door to her Théodred's study. She forced herself onward, twisting and turning for what felt like hours until she reached the familiar place, but the door that faced her was unrecognizable. Had she gone the wrong direction? The walls shifted around her; and she pounded them with her fist as she realized she was at the other end of the Keep once more.

This time, the trip took longer; her limbs were heavy and slow as she cried out in frustration. Over and over she called his name, _Théodred! Théodred!_ , but there was no answer. Why was there no answer? He had never ignored her before… The door to his study loomed over her, dark and menacing with twisted, black wood. Without a thought she pushed and pushed until it groaned open.

The study was empty. No furniture, no fire...she found the door to his bedchamber and shoved it with her shoulder until it opened, and she fell to the ground. The hard floor was merciless on her sore muscles, and she stayed sprawled as the agony in her muscles intensified. At last she lifted her head, seeing the linens of his bed swaying in front of her face, and she lifted a rebellious arm to grasp it, to pull herself up—but it tore in a long strip and rolled itself like a bandage before dropping to the floor. She reached with her other hand as well, but each time she touched the linen it ripped. With great effort she brought herself into a kneeling position, and stood on weak legs as she fell forward, catching herself on the mattress. Horrified, she lifted her hands and saw that her palms were covered in bright red blood, and she caught sight of the source—Théodred lay prostrate on the bed, blood seeping from his body as his eyes stared toward the ceiling, unseeing and dim. A scream built in her throat and stuck there, and unable to draw breath she stumbled backward, falling to the ground and gripping her head in her hands. Warm blood trickled down her face, and she saw that she was covered in blood as well, her pretty green dress soaked through and her hair dripping onto the floor… Her throat opened, and panicking, she screamed, and screamed, and screamed….

.

.

A hard thunk brought her back to reality, and Léofe tried to sit up frantically, but was trapped by—not bandages, but the quilts on her bed. She was lying on the floor, twisting helplessly between the covers. Her heart pounded, and she stared at the ceiling, taking in shaking breaths as she tried to think.

She was in her bed, or at least, she had been. She could not recall how she had come to be there...the last thing she remembered was the laundry, and the soldier, and…

Théodred dead!

Léofe inhaled sharply. No, surely he was alive. He could not be dead, her vibrant, handsome prince. His life could not be snuffed out in such a short time, it had only been four days since he had farewelled her, telling her they would marry immediately upon his return.

A knock sounded at the door, and she started violently, nearly slamming her head onto the edge of the bed as she tried to fumble her way to an escape. The door opened, and Alfrida's ashen face poked in. "Are you well?" she asked in a low voice. "I heard...I heard you fall."

Léofe laughed, smoothing the hair away from her face. "I am fine!" she chirped. "I only had a nightmare, can you believe it! In my dream Théodred was dead! A rider came from the Fords and everything—how dreadfully detailed it was! What rubbish."

Alfrida's face wrinkled into a wretched frown, and she sidled into the room and shut the door behind her. "Oh, sweet Léofe!" she murmured, and knelt beside her. The grief on her face made Léofe's heart stutter in fear—it could not—it _could not_ — "It was not a dream, my girl. I—I am sorry."

Numbly, Léofe felt Alfrida embrace her, and her head was placed on the lady's shoulder. "No," Léofe whimpered as her body began to shake. " _No_."

"It must be faced, Léofe."

"No!"

A barrage of tears was falling onto Alfrida's gown, and with shock Léofe realized she was crying—Alfrida crying! Alfrida was never express her emotion in such a way, she was too strong, unless...unless…

Théodred was... _dead_.

.

.

The sun rose and set each day, and to Léofe it meant nothing. Why should it matter if the heavens continue, if stars rise or fall by night if Théodred was no longer a part of the world? Life meant nothing—life was nothing at all if she was doomed to be alone.

She wanted him so much, it felt as if her heart was burning. Fire raged across her skin, heating her anger. Even as she stared out her window, she wanted to curse and scream at the people that coursed through the Hornburg, going about the preparations for battle. Why did they not all stop, why had not the world stopped turning? If ever there needed to be a cause, this was it.

The singular, crushing anguish dogged her every step, and Léofe refused to leave her room. She would not see anyone. Why parade her pain and grief to where others would see? It was hers, as Théodred had been hers, and it was all that she had left.

She would never be happy again.

Théodred had walked through her door! He had sat on her bed, stoked the fire. Léofe rushed at the bed, pulling the linens with all her strength, and shrieking at them as she tore them to shreds. She howled and slammed the poker into the hearth, banging it against the stone wall. How could you! How could you! She rushed at the door and pounded on it with clenched fists, shouting obscenities to the gods—they did this! They took away her Théodred—they should die, too, in the painful, burning fire with her own vengeful face laughing down at them.

The moon rose upon the Hornburg with silence but no peace. Léofe trembled at the window, dressed in her nightgown but nothing else, the feel of the frigid wind piercing her skin and freezing the tears on her cheeks. Was life not cruel enough that she lose her mother, her father, her home? Must she lose her love? Could not fate have spared her and taken her life as well?

By the time dawn began to reach into the sky, she was quite decided. Her bare feet made no noise and she glided through the corridors like a ghost. She saw no one, and all the better.

Léofe pulled open the door to the great horn of Helm with numb arms, forcing herself through the stiff breeze that met her. She climbed the steps as if walking through a foggy mist. The sun was bursting above the horizon as she reached the top—how dare it? Fury made her tremble as she climbed the wall to sit on it, the stone cold beneath her skin. The sight of the desolate valley far below took her breath away, and the tears were whipped from her face by the wind, and she closed her eyes against it. Théodred, Théodred, why have you forsaken me…

A trumpet sounded far below, and when she opened her eyes she saw a mass of soldiers—an army!—entering the valley with haste. But not an enemy army; the cries rising the Deep far below were of hope, not of fear. Léofe stayed, transfixed and confused, until the sight was clearer. Green banners floated about ranks of horsemen, bearing the king's seal, and she began to hear cries rising from the people below: _The king! The king is come!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who forgets to cross-post? I do, I do! 


	23. Chapter 23

Léofe laced her dress with trembling fingers, the noise in the courtyard spurring her forward. She tugged on her boots, fetched a cloak, and ran from the room.

 

Alfrida was not easy to find. Léofe was forced to shoulder herself through a mass of people, who seemed to be on the move, perhaps—it looked as though they were headed towards the caves. The entrance which she was aware of was in the cellar below the kitchen, and while she tried to look into the kitchen for a glimpse of the lady, too many heads of people filled the room and she was forced to elbow her way out to look elsewhere. 

 

With the Deep emptying of the refugees, it seemed eerily empty, and Léofe felt her heart pounding as she raced to find Alfrida. What on earth had happened the last days, while she had been indisposed in her misery? Even the barest trace remembrance of Théodred made her head hurt, and she pushed it down. She had to find Alfrida!

 

Just her luck—after nearly a half an hour of searching, Léofe at last found the lady in her own chamber, sitting on the bed and not moving at all, an odd sight compared with the remainder of the Deep. By then she was breathing heavily from the exertion, and Alfrida did not turn as Léofe stepped into the chamber.

 

“Erk is gone,” the lady said, her voice stilted in the silent room. “Léofe, how can I carry on now, when I know he rode to his death?” Léofe said nothing, but walked over to the bed and sat by Alfrida, embracing her tightly. The older woman’s body began to shake. “What if this is the price I pay for the babe I carry?” Alfrida whimpered. “For all my previous children died long before this…”

 

“Erkenbrand will return,” Léofe said, feeling that even if it were a lie, it was a merciful one. “He is the best fighter I have seen.”

 

“That hardly signifies! Théodred had years of experience, but was still cut down…”

 

Léofe felt a flood of tears building behind her eyes, but she frowned her trembling chin to stillness and took a deep, trembling breath. “We cannot think of it!” she said. “Be present, Alfrida; we must be present! I—I think we might be needed here, especially you, and—”

 

“My brother is here,” Alfrida interrupted coldly. “The same brother that allowed himself to be spell-bound by a filthy worm and ignored his kingdom. The one that caused his own son’s death!”

 

“Do not think of your brother! Think of Erkenbrand! Whatever would he say to see you thus?”

 

The lady let out a bark of laughter. “He would tell me that he did not marry a milksop and so he would prefer if I would ‘pull myself together, thank you very much.’”

 

Léofe allowed herself a wan smile; somehow it was too easy to hear Erkenbrand’s gruff but half-joking reprimand. “Well, what are we to do?” she asked lightly. “To see that you do not earn such a tongue-lashing from Erkenbrand.”

 

Alfrida was quiet for a moment, and then sat up, wiping her eyes and looking out the window with a determined expression. Her lips thinned, and in a strong voice, she said, “Saruman has revealed his hand; we are to prepare for battle.”

 

.

 

.

 

Truthfully there was very little for them to do; the order to retreat into the caves had been delivered by the king’s captain and carried out by a number of soldiers. Léofe was sure that she and Alfrida were the last women to make their way to the much safer mountain. As they passed the hall, her eyes were drawn inward, and in the dim light of torches she saw an oh-too-familiar profile, and a gasp caught in her throat. Théodred! He was  _ there _ , standing among armored men and speaking closely with them. Her shaking legs turned her to the hall, but Alfrida’s grip on her arm was too tight. At the sound of their scuffle, the tall man with long, burnished gold hair just as Théodred’s turned—it was not him. Léofe’s smile faded, a ball of iron forming in her stomach as she saw the lined face and deep frown. No, it was not Théodred.

 

“Come,” Alfrida said, and Léofe was tugged forward. “Théoden will be displeased that we are not yet in the caves.”

 

Léofe’s face burned, and she stumbled along with Alfrida towards the kitchens, down a staircase and at last to a heavy wooden door, which was guarded by a single soldier. He inclined his head and opened the door for them, and they were through. It thudded shut behind them, and Alfrida took a deep breath. Léofe blinked, looking down at a massive, sparkling cavern dotted with the small figures of women and children. Somehow, despite knowing of the Glittering Caves, she had not expected something so…huge and beautiful. 

 

“It is nice, is it not?” Alfrida was frowning as she, too, gazed around the cave. “Erk used to bring me to—”

 

But why, exactly, Erkenbrand used to bring his wife to the caves, was not to be explained. They were interrupted by a small, wheezing girl who had run up the steps to them, and choked out between breaths, “Lady, my mum is having a baby!”

 

“ _ Now _ ?”

 

“Yes, lady!”

 

Léofe only saw the barest flicker of unease in Alfrida’s eyes before she steeled herself, and nodded. “Take us to her.”

 

The other refugees had been courteous to the laboring woman. Several crates and barrels had been propped up around her to give her privacy, and as soon as they entered the little nook, Léofe knew it was for good reason. A crying, red-faced woman, swollen with child and soaked from sweat and fluids, would bring no peace or comfort to the anxious. 

 

“Lie on your back,” Alfrida commanded to the woman, who had been leaning against the stone wall and moaning. “Léofe, help her. Girl, what is your name?”

 

The little girl looked close to tears, but was able to stammer as she stared at her mother, “Inge, lady.”

 

“Inge, your mother needs fresh water. Can you find some? There are stores kept in the back caves, in little rooms.”

 

“Er—yes, lady.”

 

“Ask for help if you need to; there ought to be a servant nearby.” Little Inge ran off, but by that time Alfrida could not spare her a glance. Léofe had, with difficult, succeeded in helping the panting woman to the ground, and Alfrida rolled up her sleeves to examine her. 

 

“And what is your name?” she asked the woman in a gentle voice. 

 

“Ingwyn,” the woman said through gritted teeth.

 

“Is this your second, Ingwyn?”

 

“Fifth.”

 

Alfrida glanced up with a smile. “Then you should be very experienced indeed!”

 

Ingwyn’s hair was matted to her face, but she took several breaths as she answered, “I always think so, my lady, but then the labor begins.”

 

Alfrida did chuckle at that, and then pull the lady’s skirt back down as she stood. “A few more hours and you should be greeting your babe,” she said cheerfully. “Léofe, help Ingwyn into whatever position she is comfortable in, and then help me to find some rags. You will only be alone for a moment,” she added to Ingwyn. Léofe half-pulled her to her feet, and then helped her to lean again against the wall as she began to groan again. Casting her a worried look, Léofe hurried to Alfrida’s side. She was wiping her hands on a handkerchief, her brows creased.

 

“The child is breech,” the lady said in a low voice. “It will be much longer than a few hours. Can I count on your help?” 

 

Léofe’s throat tightened. Though she had never attended a human birth, most of the breech horse births she had experienced had not ended well. “Can nothing be done?” she asked. 

 

“I am going to try to find some spare healing supplies. I do hope we can be spared a little from the wounded fighters!” Alfrida turned her face away, but not before Léofe saw tears shine in her eyes. “Oh, if only the babe could have waited! Why did it come to this?” The lady’s voice was choked, and she drew her arm across her eyes. 

 

“We can do it, Alfie!” Léofe said, though she could hardly believe herself. Where had this sudden strength come from? “If the men and boys can protect us, the least we can do is bring a life into the world.”

 

Alfrida raised her head to give Léofe a watery smile before sighing. “And have you any experience with midwifery?”

 

“Only with horses. Is the principle similar enough?”

 

“I do hope so! Now where is that Inge? I shall go find her, and you must help Ingwyn. And Léofe,” Alfrida said as Léofe was turning back. “You must remember:  _ sing that child out _ !” Léofe nearly laughed at the lady’s steely gaze. Of course she knew to sing the babe into the world! Rohirric superstition held that singing out a baby would help it to survive, and then to grow strong and hale. Léofe had done so for fillies and colts for years. That part, at least, would be the same. 

 

Ingwyn was shaking with sobs when Léofe returned, and the light feeling she had been nursing dissipated. “Hold my hand,” she said to the woman, forgetting her years of discomfort and awkwardness in the company of others. “I will push on your back when the next pain comes.”

 

“Th—thank you…” Ingwyn whimpered, and sure enough, she let out a cry as her body tensed. Léofe pushed her forearm into the woman’s back, harder and harder until at last she relaxed again, breathing out slowly.

“Where are you from?” Léofe asked, distracting both of them as she rubbed the woman’s back. She was so used to massaging mares during breech births that she did not even think twice of it.

 

“Grimslade. It was levelled by orcs only a fortnight ago,” Ingwyn said, her tone bitter.

 

“Will you return to rebuild your home?”

 

“I cannot. I wish not to dwell near the reminder that all my children save Inge are dead.” Ingwyn’s body shuddered again, and Léofe pushed into her back once more. Then remembering Alfrida’s parting advice, began to sing. 

 

_ Dream little baby, dream of a valley green _

_ Far over mountains by the sea _

_ Dream little baby, one day no more you’ll roam _

_ Then you’ll awake and find a home _

 

_ Sleep little baby, sleep ‘til the morning comes _

_ Mama will keep you from all harm _

_ Sleep little baby under the western sky _

_ I’ll sing you a mountain lullaby… _

 

Ingwyn’s shrieks as the labor progressed brought about a few curious individuals, all clearly concerned about the noise. Léofe sent each one scurrying by giving them her most fearsome scowl, and did not pause her singing as she rubbed the woman’s back and shoulders.

 

_ Should a body meet a body _

_ Comin thro' the rye, _

_ Should a body kiss a body, _

_ Need a body cry? _

 

_ Should a body meet a body _

_ Comin thro' the glen _

_ Should a body kiss a body, _

_ Need the world know? _

 

_ Should a body meet a body _

_ Comin thro' the grain; _

_ Should a body kiss a body, _

_ The thing's a body's own. _

 

_ Every lassie has her laddie, _

_ None, they say, have I _

_ Yet all the lads they smile on me, _

_ When comin' thro' the rye… _

 

The contractions seemed to come closer together, and still Léofe sang on. Her throat grew hoarse, but she could not justify leaving Ingwyn to fetch water. Neither Alfrida nor Inge had returned. 

 

The night wore on. The caves were growing warm; the torches and fires and the multitude of nervous bodies were causing the temperature to rise, and Léofe had to dab sweat from her face whenever Ingwyn’s body went slack. And still she sang.

 

_ My young man wears a frown _

_ With his eyes all closed and his head bowed down, _

_ My young man never sleeps. _

_ The rain it falls upon his back _

_ The dust before his eyes is black, _

_ Oft the times, oft the times my young man weeps. _

 

_ A young girl no more am I _

_ But I shall not weep and I will not cry, _

_ For my young man needs me still. _

_ If someone’s watching up above _

_ You’ll see how much my dear I love, _

_ So leave him here, I need him now and always will. _

_ Oh if someone’s watching up above _

_ You’ll see how much my dear I love, _

_ And If he must go, let your best angels keep him well… _

 

A shuddering boom shook the caves. Many cried out, and Léofe paused in her croaking, looking ‘round with panic. What was happening? What on earth could have made such a noise? What could have shook the mountain so? 

 

Ingwyn yelped beside her, the woman’s own voice weak as well. Léofe felt a warm flood on her boots, and she looked down to see water dripping down Ingwyn’s frock. 

 

“Almost done, then,” Léofe said, lacking the energy to sound encouraging. “You can make it to the end now; almost there…” 

 

“No…” Ingwyn’s  voice was weak, and her shoulder were shaking as she began to weep. “I cannot! Not knowing the babe’s father is probably lying dead as we speak…I cannot stop thinking of him!”

 

“Your husband defends the Deep?” Léofe asked, astonished. Somehow she had not connected this woman with a soldier fighting the invasion. A black shadow crept over her heart. Léofe knew that if were their roles reversed,  _ she  _ certainly would not wish to have a child with...with Théodred away. How could Ingwyn have made it this far? Léofe’s eyes stung with tears, and her ears filled with Ingwyn’s shriek as another contraction took her body. 

 

“That—that song you sung,” Ingwyn said in a trembling voice, when the contraction ended. “My ma sung it when my brother died as a child. Somehow I think I shall be singing it afore the day is out for my Deor! Oh, it is no use!” She wrenched her arm out of Léofe’s stunned grasp. “We will all be dead anyway!” 

 

“Stop such thoughts at once!” Léofe clung to Ingwyn’s elbow as the woman sunk to the ground, from hopelessness or weakness. “There is no certainty that we will die—” Ingwyn barked a maniacal, cynical laughter then, and Léofe snarled. At last frustration was gripping her; how many hours had they been at this? “You gave this child life, miss, and you will be bringing it to the earth! You owe it that much, and Deor too! What would he say, if he saw you in such hysterics?”

 

Ingwyn’s contorted face went still, and the dark, wet clumps of hair stood out against her clammy face. “He would say that if he wished hysterics, he would have married a younger woman,” she said. “And so he should have! Then I would not be the one grieving tonight, and every night hence.”

 

“Was life so miserable then, that you would erase it all to avoid the pain of your future?” Léofe’s voice was rising as she gathered confidence, some spark in her heart heating her words. “You would relinquish all the joy you have had because you fear that you shan’t have any more? How ridiculous!” Her voice choked, but she forced the next words through; if not for Ingwyn, then for herself. “It is foolish to deny love because it might be taken away,” Léofe said slowly. “And...when it is gone, your heart ought to be filled with thanks for the happiness it did have, rather than grow bitter and shriveled that it ended.”

 

Ingwyn, slumped on the floor, began to groan loudly, and renewed, Léofe clasped her hand tightly. “You can do this!” she cried. “Give life to the fruits of your love!” The woman’s groan heightened to a scream, but Léofe dug in her heels. Then to her surprise, she saw Alfrida out of the corner of her eye, rushing towards them. The lady crouched down next to Ingwyn, asking in a loud voice,

 

“Do you need to push?”

 

Ingwyn’s head nodded, though her eyes were squeezed shut. Alfrida began to direct Léofe. “Help her into a sitting position! There—hold her leg apart. Inge! Inge!” 

 

The little girl had crept up behind Alfrida, looking pale and terrified. “Come help your ma,” Alfrida said as she lifted Ingwyn’s skirts. “Set down the kettle by me and hold her other leg!”

 

“You were delayed,” Léofe said to Alfrida, who glanced up ruefully at her. 

 

“I was waylaid,” she explained. “Evidently there is no one else who knows the layout of the caves apart from me! Ingwyn, when your body contracts, again,  _ push! _ ”

 

“I know! I have done this four times before!” Ingwyn snapped. Her daughter let out a whimper. Léofe dearly hoped that this part would not last as long as the labor—she felt weary to her bones  and she wished for a drink of water and glorious rest. But it was nothing compared to what Ingwyn might be feeling! The woman pushed, huffing her breath. Léofe suddenly heard several shouts echoing through the caves, and her head whipped up. Nothing in her sight seemed out of the ordinary, though she began to hear the clanging of weapons as well. She returned her attention to Alfrida, whose face betrayed nothing, but Léofe imagined a sense of terror lining the lady’s eyes. 

 

“You are doing fantastically,” Alfrida said to Ingwyn, her voice gentle to the woman’s sobbing. “I can see the babe’s head; nearly there!” 

 

Several minutes crawled by. Léofe alternated between massaging Ingwyn’s leg, instructing Inge to do the same, and trying to ignore the clamoring cries which, to her relief, eventually died away. An unearthly and unnatural silence was surrounding them now, though it was soon broken by Ingwyn’s final groans and a little wail which emanated from the small body which Alfrida was holding in her bloody hands. 

 

“A boy!” she said. “Léofe, dampen the cloths I brought with the hot water; quickly now!” 

 

Léofe did as she was told, and was then assigned to wash the babe while Alfrida helped Ingwyn to expel the afterbirth. Léofe sat, her legs outstretched, and stared at the tiny body that rested there. The boy was squirming, though he did not wail any longer. His arms and legs flailed around as his gaping mouth searched for food. Once more, tears threatened Léofe as she gently rubbed the warm cloth along his body, cleansing him of the fluids and mucus. She counted his fingers and toes (all there), and used a dry cloth to fluff his beautiful, soft hair. His blue blue eyes gazed up at her as she worked, completely trusting. Léofe was sure she had never felt so awed by anything before, even having birthed horses her entire life, and her heart ached as she gave the wrapped baby back to his mother, who was looking serene and enormously happy. 

 

“He will be Deor, as his father,” Ingwyn said, stroking the softness of his plump cheek. “As we hope he might remain safe and whole!” Inge had cuddled up to the side of her mother, and was gazing contentedly at her brother. 

 

“Let us clean up,” Alfrida murmured. “They are well off for now; I will return later to ensure that Ingwyn does not take ill. Léofe?”

 

Léofe was teetering, waves of exhaustion rolling over her body as a herd of horses. Alfrida caught her elbow before she stumbled. 

 

“To bed with you!” Alfrida decided. “There are a few beds made up hereabout.”

 

“But—” Léofe protested. “I must help clean—”

 

“I will do it! You are no use when you are nearly fainting from tiredness.” 

 

Léofe did welcome the sight of a small cot, and was under the thin blanket without any more protests, and she slipped into a dreamless sleep.


	24. Chapter 24

The sound of intermingled crying with whoops and shouts roused Léofe far sooner that she would have liked. She rubbed her eyes, wishing with all her might for just a little more rest, but the noise grew louder, and with a sigh, she rolled over in the cot, yawning.

The little space where the cots were set up was not a proper chamber, but rather a smaller cavern cut into the side of the larger cave, and Léofe was the only one in it. That part was a bit befuddling; were no others as tired as she? Where was Ingwyn? Alfrida was nowhere in sight, but that was hardly surprising.

The noise seemed to be moving away from her, fading until there was nothing to her ears but the sound of her own breathing, and a stillness that might have suffocated her were she less tired. Léofe felt her eyes closing again, and pulling a blanket to her chin, she decided that she would rather sleep than explore the reason for her apparent solitude. And so she did.

.

.

Several hours she woke again, blinking in the darkness. The candles and makeshift fires which had lit the caverns earlier had burned down and were not relit; the only source of light came from the open door to the Hornburg, where Léofe could hear much talking. She was stiff, and so she knew she had probably slept through most of the day. This cheered her somewhat, and so she made for the steps upwards, intent on finding Alfrida. The lady would know the outcome of the battle, though Léofe realized that as she was alive and the voices she heard were certainly human, it was unlikely that the fortress had fallen…

She entered the kitchen, and was gripped by astonishment to see several people preparing food. It had only been Léofe and Alfrida for so long that the sight paused her in her steps for a moment. The smells were quite nice, too, and Léofe realized that she was famished. But she would not bother the workers.

The corridors bore signs of battle which the kitchen had not; odd debris, smears of black on the walls, and chipped rocks cracked beneath her boots. But it was mercifully empty, of the living or otherwise, and Léofe continued her search for Alfrida.

A fair amount of noise seemed to be coming from the hall, and so she turned towards its flickering light. Léofe nudged open a side door and peeked her nose into it. Several people were standing about and conversing; all loudly, but some were angry, some were upset, and some were excited. To her relief, Alfrida was there, and so was Erkenbrand! So he had returned. He appeared unhurt, though he was dirty and exhausted as he held his wife close. They were facing the dais, where a single chair stood. Léofe, facing the back of it, could not see who was sitting there, but as she watched, Alfrida walked forward to take the figure's hand. But then she caught sight of Léofe, and stood abruptly.

"Léofe!" Alfrida said. "Come in!"

As she did not recognize any faces apart from Alfrida and Erkenbrand, Léofe balked, but the lady waved her forward and she obeyed with shaking knees. Many curious eyes were upon her, and her face was burning.

"I was wondering where you were," Alfrida said, and looked searchingly at Léofe as she approached. "Were you still sleeping, even through the noise?"

"Yes," Léofe said in a small voice. "What—what happened?"

"We won," Erkenbrand interrupted gruffly. "With much sacrifice." Léofe felt as though there was far more to the story, but Erkenbrand's voice was one not to be presently questioned.

"Léofe…" Alfrida nodded her head towards the dais. "You should pay your respects to the king."

To the king! Léofe turned to face the figure in the tall chair, feeling as though she might faint. A hundred thoughts whirled about in her mind, and she swallowed several times. A hunched man sat, his hands empty and resting on his lap as he stared downwards. His hair was long and ash-white, though even the lines about his eyes did not hide his resemblance to his son. He lifted his head then, and she staggered before Alfrida gently nudged her forward. The king frowned as he saw her, his gaze stern as she knelt before him. Did he know? Léofe felt suddenly very aware of her dirty frock and her matted hair.

"What is your name?" The king's voice was not loud, but it made the air shiver as if in awe of his presence.

"L—Léofe, sire," she managed.

"Léofe." He spoke more quietly now, and offered her a hand, which she took. Her knees began to ache from the hard floor beneath them. "Léofe. I am an imperfect man, and I must ask your forgiveness for being unaware of your existence until recently."

"Of course," Léofe said dumbly, although she felt that the longer he spoke, the less she understood. His blue eyes were still searching intently into her own, and she felt herself flush.

"How can you bear it?" The king asked suddenly as his eyes blazed with fire. "What do you do, to appear so composed? I feel as though my grief might burst from me at any moment and consume my body in writhing flames!" The passion in his tone unnerved Léofe, though it resonated within her heart too, and she squeezed his hand.

"I can have few thoughts for myself," Léofe said. "Otherwise I shall be driven mad."

The shadow passed from his gaze, and he sat back in the chair. A low sigh from his lips, and then he spoke again. "Tell me of my son, Léofe. I want to know of Théodred."

.

.

When the king's guard left that afternoon, the Hornburg was left nearly empty. Most of the soldiers which Théodred and Erkenbrand had been gathering for so many months were sent home, and took their families with them. The wounded were left, as well as several widows which Alfrida had insisted on providing a home and work for as long as they needed. It was a welcome respite for Léofe, who was feeling odd and unsettled and bored and weary all at once.

She was grateful, at least, that she was not responsible for nor asked to assist with the cleaning efforts in the courtyard or before the Deeping Wall. And with more workers doing the tasks which she had become accustomed to the in the last weeks, Léofe's sense of unbelonging deepened.

On the second day from the battle, three significant things happened which combined, eased Léofe's aching spirit. Firstly, the doors from the great hall were thrown open to the spring sunshine, which welcomed a warm breeze which had not been felt in what seemed like weeks. This meant that the Wall was cleaned and repaired enough for Léofe to talk a walk in the fresh air beside the stone parapets.

The first hints of green were spreading across the bare trees which decorated the mountainside. Still the valley was brown, but it has a lushness to it that gave a sense of renewal. A new hill covered with stones had been built somehow in the valley; she had not asked Alfrida where it came from nor did she wish to now. Even looking it made her spine tingle with dread. Léofe pulled her shawl tighter across her shoulders, staring out at the wide expanse of plains, yearning but knowing that she would not see what she wished to. _Oh, Théodred, Théodred, why do you not come?_

"Léofe."

She turned as was met by the sight of Ingewyn, holding her bundled baby and with Inge close to her side. A tall man was with them, and they were all smiling.

"I wanted to tell you thank you, and to tell you farewell," Ingewyn said. "We are going to Aldburg. Marshal Éomer has offered Deor a position in his household."

"Oh, that is lovely," Léofe managed a smile in return. "And I am pleased to know that your man was not hurt."

"One of the few," Deor said in a deep voice. "I cannot express to you, miss, how grateful I am for your assistance and compassion to my wife during the birth of my son. It cannot be repaid."

Léofe stiffened, her brows creasing. "It does not need to be."

"Nonetheless," Deor reached out and gave to her a folded handkerchief, which encased something heavy. "Perhaps we will meet again."

"Goodbye." It was all she could say.

That little family was one of the last to leave, and emptiness began to echo in the Deep. But this apparent loneliness was to to last for her, for only a few hours later when Léofe was absently tidying her old bedchamber, Alfrida peeked in with a rather desperate expression. Somehow Léofe sensed that she was a moment away from significant work.

"Léofe, could you possibly help me in the infirmary? The healers have been working for three days with no sleep and I fear for those they are treating!"

"I know nothing of healing," Léofe said, but she followed Alfrida out anyway. Boredom was not sitting well with her.

"We have only little tasks to do," the lady informed her. "Feeding the patients, changing bandages—simple things. I do appreciate your willingness to help!"

Léofe only shrugged in response. She was not keen on wounds or the sight of blood, but it seemed a better option than sweeping her chamber again. Perhaps it could even distract her from the dreary thoughts which loomed over her, which still felt as though they were suffocating her.

The infirmary off of the kitchens was packed full. Wall to wall, there were dozens upon dozens of bloodied and bandaged men lying on makeshift cots. Most were asleep, though a few were moaning aloud; from dreams or pain, Léofe did not know. The dimly lit room was an eerie sight, and it unsettled her. Alfrida was clearly uncomfortable as well, and she stared dubiously about before speaking.

"I am more thankful than ever for healers. I am not cut out to be one, myself."

"Nor I," Léofe said faintly. The faint stench of blood was beginning to bother her. Though the battle had been a only a few days earlier, the healers had clearly done a fine job keeping the infirmary relatively clean. That much, she could be grateful for.

Alfrida was eying her. "That is not true," she said. "You did wonderfully with Ingewyn."

"A baby and a lost limb are entirely different," Léofe pointed out. "I would choose a breech birth over a wound any day. In fact—"

"You are plumb out of luck!" Alfrida gave a short laugh. "No births today. Roll up your sleeves, my girl, and we shall see what we are capable of!"

What exactly Léofe was capable of, she learned quickly. Years of tending to horses had left her with a working knowledge of herbs and tying bandages, but as she stared at the line of medicine-filled bottles on a shelf, she wished harder than ever that she could read properly. All of the bottles were labelled with parchment and a name, and so she could not choose which one was extract of poppy, which Alfrida had asked her to fetch for a patient that was moaning with pain. Léofe picked one up, uncorked it, and sniffed. An overwhelming stench made her recoil with horror, and she corked the bottle again, swallowing the impulse to gag.

"That is valerian root," a voice next to her said, "I would not smell it if I were you."

Irritated, Léofe scowled at the man lying prone on the cot, who was looking upwards at her with amusement. His eyes were bright as he smiled, so clearly he was not injured too badly. For now.

"Do I have to pay you for that wisdom?" Léofe said, her voice snide.

"No, I have offered it freely." The man was still looking at her, and she exerted her willpower not to flounce away. She returned her attention to the medicines, picking up another one which contained a murky syrup.

"Are you going to continue smelling them until you find the one you are looking for?" The man asked. "That may not be advisable."

"Well!" Léofe said. "I have little choice, sir, as I cannot read the bloody labels!" Her annoyance was rising, making her voice grow louder as well. It was terribly rude of her, but she ignored her whispering conscience.

"I can read them for you."

"Fine," she snapped, and brandished the bottle in her hand at him. "What is this?"

"Extract of garlic. That would have been quite a smell, thank you kindly for not opening it by me! The valerian was bad enough." He was still smiling as Léofe replaced the bottle. "I am Ceorl, by the way."

"What is this?"

"Mint."

"And this?"

"Poppy."

At last! Léofe stalked over to Alfrida, who was trying to help the struggling man to calm himself. He was kicking away his blankets, revealing a missing leg, which made Léofe cringe. "There is a cup there for him to use," Alfrida said, nodding towards a small table. "Dilute the poppy with water—use only a few drops!"

Léofe did as she was bid, and soon the man was drinking the medicine, though it was rather messy.

"He is feverish as well," Alfrida said. "Could you—"

"I will fetch coriander," Léofe said. "That will not react badly with the poppy."

Alfrida was nodding, but her attention was on the man.Léofe rushed to find the coriander, and with the overly-helpful Ceorl soon had another mixture to give to the fevered man. In his upset, his bandages on the stump of his leg were blossoming with red, which Alfrida was watching with nervousness.

"I have not the skill to brand the leg shut," she said quietly to Léofe as the man drank. "I do not know what to do!"

"Oak bark," Léofe suggested. "We can pack it on using a bandage, and if the leg is elevated it ought to help. Otherwise I can find a healer—"

"The healers are so tired, they might damage it more!" Alfrida said. "We can do this, Léofe. Fetch the bark."

That man was the most badly injured, and once he was at last resting (courtesy of the poppy) with his leg held up by a crutch, Alfrida and Léofe could turn their attention to the lesser wounds. Léofe attended several cuts and bruises, administered small amounts of poppy, and rewrapped what felt like one hundred bandages. One soldier had an inflamed wound on his shoulder, and she cleaned it with pure spirits (which made him very unhappy) before wrapping it in a clean bandage.

"You are a good healer."

Léofe could recognize Ceorl's voice by then. He was also the only man who had tried to speak to her. That did not prevent her from scowling in his direction, however. How she wished he had fallen under Alfrida's half of the room! "You may say differently when I am done with you," Léofe said as she knelt down beside him. He extended a bandaged arm to her.

"You do not care what they think of you," he continued. "You are not worried about their comfort, as long as they are being treated. Very admirable."

A nasty hole, presumable from an arrow, was visible. It had gone clean through his arm and between the bones. Léofe dampened a cloth with vinegar, and pressed it onto the wound. Ceorl did not flinch, and her opinion of him rose. Just a bit.

"I am not here to be liked," Léofe said in the awkward silence that followed. "So really, it hardly matters."

"You may find yourself liked anyway."

This Léofe ignored, and once she felt that the hole had been cleaned well enough she began to wind a clean bandage around it. "There," she said at last. "All done."

"My leg, too," Ceorl said, and pointed a long finger downwards. "I think the orcs were trying to use me as a pincushion."

Léofe had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. Ceorl clearly had uncommonly good humor, and it felt good to be amused. She moved to attend to his leg, which indeed had a wound similar to his arm. And so she treated it the same, though much faster with her previous practice.

"Anywhere else?" she asked when finished.

"No."

"Good. And two pricks is hardly a pincushion, anyway."

Ceorl laughed then, and Léofe flushed red as she turned away.

She and Alfrida had finished with all the patients a short time later, and it was with great satisfaction that they relinquished control to a yawning healer, who was looking impressed. "It is quiet," the woman said. "But it is a peaceful quiet. Thank you."

Léofe washed her hands and arms and face in a bucket of cool water in the kitchen, wishing the memories of the blood and wounds could fade away so easily. The settling sun was shining through a nearby window, making the water sparkle with golds and oranges.

"Do you hear that?" Alfrida asked sharply. She had been cleaning herself in a different bucket, and Léofe looked up as she listened. It had been so quiet in the Keep the last days that she had to think for a moment.

"It sounds like the soldiers are moving," she said. "But—"

Alfrida did not even dry her hands before rushing away.

Léofe followed at a more sedate pace, though the sounds of horses and clanking armor and shouts made her insides twist with worry. Was the battle not over? Clearly not—for all the soldiers of the Deep were mounted and moving out through the great Gate. Léofe stared, and then saw Alfrida standing by herself before the doors to the hall.

"I cannot believe it!" Alfrida said in a choked voice when Léofe approached. "Erk is _gone_! He could barely tell me goodbye and then he _left_!"

"Where are they going?" Léofe said, hushed.

"To Stoneland," Alfrida said bitterly. "We fight their war, though they abandoned us to ours." There were tears on her cheeks, and Léofe was suddenly overwhelmed by an aching sadness. She hugged Alfrida close, and together they watched the exodus until it disappeared from the valley with the last rays of the setting sun.


	25. Chapter 25

Erkenbrand returned three weeks to the day on which he departed with his host. Léofe had been indulging in a bout of self-pity, sitting alone on a parapet with her legs dangling over the edge. It was the same parapet where Théodred had taken her all those months ago, and in such solitude she could almost hear his voice again. The sun was warm, the breeze which drifted lazily down the mountain passes was pleasant, and she remembered happiness.

But the shouts of soldiers broke through her peace, and she was forced to open her eyes to see columns of riders mounting the causeway into the Deep. She could see Erkenbrand's massive form in the vanguard, and relief for Alfrida made Léofe smile wryly to herself. She could not feel so bitter that the happiness of others made her ache worse, but a blossom of hope in her heart seemed to cut through her darkness. Perhaps a year ago she might have responded differently, but it had been a very difficult year, after all.

Eventually she wandered down to the courtyard, which was mostly emptied as soldiers returned to their families and stablehands took the horses to be cared for. It was all done remarkably quickly; was Erkenbrand's host so depleted? Léofe turned to the hall, where she heard voices. Likely that was where Alfrida could be found.

She squeezed through the oaken door, stopping to blink in the dim light of the hall. Indeed, there was Alfrida, sitting at a low table next to Erkenbrand, whose large hand was spanning her swollen belly. He still wore his armor, and bore the dirt and filth of travel. A light was in his eyes, and there were tears on the lady's face.

"Léofe!" Alfrida said, her voice nasally. "Come sit with us."

Though feeling awkward for intruding on such a moment, Léofe obeyed anyway. She took a place at a table across from them, facing her friends.

"The Dark Lord is vanquished," Erkenbrand said before Léofe could open her mouth to ask. "For good this time, or so they tell me. Though we paid a heavy price for it: Théoden is dead."

Léofe supposed that was the reason for Alfrida's tears. Her brother was dead; of course she was weeping! Léofe's thoughts stumbled about for moment as she surmised that Théodred ought to be king then, but then she remembered.

"Théoden named Éomer king on the fields in front of Minas Tirith," Erkenbrand continued, as if knowing her mind. "Éomer has been crowned, and Théoden will be buried in Edoras with his kin."

Léofe frowned. She did not know what to think. "I suppose…" she said after a moment. "Éomer will be a good king."

"He will," Alfrida said. "Though he still mourns his cousin and uncle, as...as do I. As do we all. He will come around, though."

Léofe decided she was uncomfortable speaking of Théodred's family in such a familiar way. She stood abruptly, which startled Erkenbrand. "Thank you for the news," she said politely. "And welcome back."

She turned to leave, and so did not see Erkenbrand's mouth fall open at her retreating back.

.

.

"Are you going to the feast tonight?"

Léofe muttered a half-hearted response, being focused on trying to use the too-short end of bandage to tie a sufficient knot on the man's arm. It was not going well, and she was forced to stifle a growl of frustration. She pulled the linen tighter, making Ceorl wince.

"I hear there is going to be much singing and dancing," he added after a moment.

"I do not know where you get your gossip, but I find it most unsettling. You seem better informed than anyone else in the Keep," Léofe said airily as she succeeded in knotting the bandage. Ceorl wriggled his fingers as he stared doubtfully at the poorly tied bandage, which made her scowl.

"Erkenbrand visits us on occasion," Ceorl explained. "But you are going? Or did you dress so nicely to visit me?" His unrepentant grin might have made her smile at another time, but Léofe just shook her head.

"Yes, I am going. I have nothing else to do."

"You could stay here and keep me company."

She stood, untying the apron which protected her green velvet dress and folded it neatly. "Perhaps I should have made myself clear," Léofe said. "I have nothing better to do."

A low chuckle sounded from the made up bed next to Ceorl, and a man with a bandage wrapped 'round his head chortled, "You've no luck with women, Ceorl! Might as well give up!"

Léofe glowered at this man, avoiding Ceorl's intense gaze, which had not left her. She felt that she understood such insinuations well enough, but the thought of giving another man affection made her feel ill. Ceorl was plenty kind, and he was good-natured even with his injuries, but Léofe could not return his sentiments. She could not even consider it.

"Dawyn is on duty tonight, I believe," she said lightly. "Perhaps if you ask her nicely, she will do a jig for the special occasion."

"Or she will cuff me 'round the head," Ceorl grinned. "But it is kind of you to consider my amusement, in any case. Oh, and that is a pretty bracelet, Léofe!"

The billowy sleeves of her dress had fallen back as she was ordering the row of medicines into neater columns. She did not look at her wrist, where the gift from Ingewyn was resting. It was a gold bracelet, braided and set with a single garnet. Though Léofe thought it massively pretty, she felt it was unearned, and that she was far too plain to be wearing such richness. Unfortunately Alfrida had seen it in passing and insisted she wear it for the feast. And so she ignored Ceorl's comment, and said,

"Your wounds have been healing awfully slowly. Perhaps you will be well enough to attend Yuletide."

He laughed, which was her design, and she left before he could compose himself and make her any more uncomfortable.

.

.

The mood in the hall was half-somber, half-relieved. It was an odd atmosphere, as if everyone wanted to celebrate but was held back by their recent memories of horror and guilt at surviving when their friends and family did not.

Léofe certainly felt as if the entire feast was wrong somehow. How could she possibly feel festive when the memory of Théodred still darkened her heart?

The food tasted of ash in her mouth, though she was thankful for victuals at least. And it was hot and fresh; Alfrida had made a very good choice to have a cow slaughtered for the event. When the sweet course was at last served after a long, dragging meal, a minstrel with a lyre stepped forward, a bandage wrapped around his head but looking hale otherwise. He bowed to the head table, and Erkenbrand took his eyes off of his wife at last (though he did not remove his hand from her belly), and bade the man to begin.

"We cannot forget past afflictions," the minstrel said in a carrying voice. "Lest we fall victims to the same traps again. I wish to begin with a song which has arisen from the Westmark during this time of war...a tale whispered from soldier to soldier, from Rider to widow, from farmhand to Lord… A tale that reminds us of love given and love lost." He cleared his throat, strummed his lyre.

_There was a pretty freckled maid from valley lush and green  
_ _Who was loved by a noble prince; tall, noble, brave and true  
_ _And though their births would never agree, their souls did not want  
_ _Oh, they swore eternal love beneath the clear azure sky . . ._

_He said, "My darling, I must go to war—  
_ _And though I know I hold your heart  
_ _I cannot swear to keep it safe.  
_ _And if I fall promise not to grieve long,  
_ _for ye fair maid are the worthiest I know  
_ _and should not deny yourself joy for my sake."_

_She said, "I'd rather lay my life down than my true love forsake,  
_ _even if my heart bleeds for the rest of my days—  
_ _I will ever be thine, and thine alone."_

_The prince did not return and fair maid haunts now the valley green . . ._

Léofe's face was burning, and almost against her will she felt a grimace pulling at her lips. She knew there were eyes upon her, and whispers echoed throughout the now silent hall. Her heartbeat thudded loudly in her own ears. Alfrida reached over a hand and placed it over Léofe's cold one, and she shook herself. "Well," she said, tossing her hair back as if she had not a care in the world, which was a complete lie. "It was not quite like that."

Awkward laughter rang in her ears, and thankfully, the minstrel began another song without further waiting. But Léofe did not listen any longer; the song of her—there was a song about her and Théodred!—still echoing in her ears. So, their great secret was not a secret at all. Was it such a surprise? They had not been entirely careful, too caught up in their own affections to realize that others could see it, too.

The remainder of the songs were more light-hearted, tales of long-dead lovers, old kings and forgotten wars. But the last, as the minstrel stood to give a final bow, quieted the hall once more. It was a song Léofe knew well enough; it had been around for years in taverns (or at least as her father had mentioned). But with recent events still fresh in mind, there was a special ache along with it.

_Oh, all the money that ever I spent  
_ _I spent it in good company  
_ _And all the harm that ever I've done  
_ _Alas, it was to none but me  
_ _And all I've done for want of wit  
_ _To memory now I can't recall  
_ _So fill to me the parting glass  
_ _Good night and joy be with you all._

_Oh, all the comrades that ever I've had  
_ _Are sorry for my going away  
_ _And all the sweethearts that ever I've had  
_ _Would wish me one more day to stay  
_ _But since it falls unto my lot  
_ _That I should rise and you should not  
_ _I'll gently rise and I'll softly call  
_ _Good night and joy be with you all . . ._

.

.

Summer burned bright that year, but Léofe could have no thought for the weather, so busy was she with taking over Alfrida's duties during the lady's confinement. The babe arrived soon after Midsummer, and while Léofe was happy for her friend she could not help feeling immensely sad at the sight of the squalling child, for he was named Théobrand and seemed to relight the her agony of loneliness.

But time passed, nonetheless.

Léofe watched the lush grass in the valley, tall and proud, fluttering in the hot breeze of late summer. She leaned out her window as far as she could, breathing deeply and noticing—for the first time—the barest whiff of chill air from the mountains. So, autumn was considering making an appearance.

A knock sounded on her door, and Léofe reluctantly drew away from the open window. Alfrida, dressed for travel, was standing in the doorway, Théobrand wrapped to her chest with a shawl. Léofe smiled at his pink, pudgy cheeks sticking out as he stared at her with wide, grey eyes.

"I wanted to ask one final time before we left," Alfrida said, her tone gentle. "Are you determined to stay behind?"

Erkenbrand and Alfrida had been planning a visit to the Fords of Isen for quite some time; partly to oversee the cleaning of all traces of war from the area, and partly to visit Théodred's cairn, which had been constructed on the riverbank. Léofe had struggled to even consider joining the expedition, and took a deep breath as she said, slowly, "I cannot go, Alfie. For if I do...I fear I shall lie down on the bank and never move again."

Alfrida's lips drooped downwards, but she nodded and stepped forward to kiss Léofe's cheek. "Farewell, Léofe. If you find yourself overwhelmed without Erk and I...you might consult Grimbold."

"Thank you; I shall."

.

.

They returned the morning of the first frost. Léofe had been sweeping the front steps to the hall (out of boredom rather than need; without war there was surprisingly little to the upkeep of the Hornburg). She heard the call of Erkenbrand's horn, and she made down the stairs, excited to see her friends again. She shaded her eyes from the chill sun to watch the great gate swing inwards.

There was a screeching neigh, and before she could even smile to greet Alfrida, she saw a familiar but dilapidated figure of a horse tied to Erkenbrand's mount.

It was Brego!

The broom fell from her limp hands as she stared at the stallion, who was shying away from a squire who had rushed forward to untie him. Brego looked simply awful—ribs protruded, his coat was matted and filled with briars, and he walked with a limp. Part of his left ear was torn away, and foaming spittle dripped onto the stones of the courtyard. The squire was is immediate danger of being bitten, so Léofe walked on trembling legs, calling out Brego's name in as strong a voice as she could force through her numb throat. The stallion paused, his head tilting her way. His legs were shaking too, and with tears in her eyes, Léofe scratched his wrinkly chin only briefly before winding her arms tightly around his neck. Léofe barely heard Erkenbrand explaining, behind her, that they had come across him in the forest, half-mad and half-starved. Brego seemed in as bad condition as Léofe felt her heart was, but she murmured to her best friend anyway—

"Oh, Brego! How I missed you! We must stay together now, you and I, now that—now that Théodred is gone. Do you think we will be alright? Can we be happy again? I think I could possibly be, with you again. Brego, Brego!"

But this time, her shaking sobs were a curative, and she felt the sun warm her back.

* * *

_Stay tuned just a bit longer; one more chapter!_


	26. Chapter 26

_Year 3 in the Fourth Age_

The candle flickered in the dark corridor, lighting the old stone walls off of which Léofe's footsteps echoed. She knew her way to her destination even with her eyes closed, but it would have seemed odd to any other night time wanderers to be without light.

She did not notice that there was already light coming from under the door.

Léofe entered the room, her attention far away, and so did not expect to see another. She stifled a gasp. A large man, unfortunately very familiar, looked up at her looking mildly concerned.

"To what do I owe this surprise?" the new king asked.

"I apologize!" Léofe said at once. "I did not know that anyone would be here."

"So you came here expecting to be alone?"

"Yes." Léofe knew how it sounded, and her cheeks flushed red.

But the king did not speak again, but studied her as he set down the large book he had been pursuing. "Well met again, Léofe," he said, his voice quiet as he laced his fingers together, relaxing in the carved chair behind the desk. "I was intending to seek you out tomorrow."

"Wha— _me_?"

"Yes," the king smiled, and his resemblance to his cousin hit Léofe in the gut like a vicious punch. Her throat tightened. "Will you ask why?" he asked.

"Why?" she choked, trying to regain control over herself.

"Please, sit." The king motioned towards a chair across from him, and Léofe sat. He studied her for a moment, then said, "Do you enjoy living here?"

This was not the response she expected, and she had to think for a moment. "Most of the time," she admitted. "I have been very busy helping Alfrida since Théobrand was born, but I am not a housekeeper at heart, like she is."

The king nodded. "Are you going to stay?"

Léofe squirmed in her seat. She was not uncomfortable with the king exactly; he exuded a presence that made her feel at ease. But his question made her voice thoughts that she had not spoken of. "No," she said at last. "I cannot."

"You cannot? Why?"

"There are too many ghosts."

This vague answer did not confuse the king; instead, he nodded solemnly. "Mistress Léofe," he said, his voice slow and deliberate. "I knew my cousin better than nearly anybody. In the years I lived with him as a brother, and as we kept correspondence for the remainder of his life, he never once spoke of a woman apart from our aunt and my sister. Until he met you."

Léofe blushed again. The king stood, walking over to a travelling trunk which he rummaged through for several moments. When he sat again, he dropped a large tied bag onto the table, which clanked loudly. "I know you and Théodred were not formally betrothed, though not because of any lack of effort on his part. I would have come at his request, but I was detained as part of the plan of his murder." The king's brows had drawn together, and his voice was gruff. "But I know he would have wanted to provide for you. That was his intention in wishing to have a ceremony during the war. It was a risky decision, as I believe you had already been used to hurt him?"

Léofe nodded, her face feeling numb.

"Hmm. Well, Léofe, you are a very rich woman. This is a quarter of Théodred's personal fortune. It is now yours. The rest you may have when you wish it." The king pushed the bag towards her.

Her mouth fell open. "No! Surely not? That cannot be legal! We were not betrothed!"

"Of course it is legal. I am the king, and I say it is." The man's face was impassive, but Léofe had the impression that his words were a joke. But she did not have a laugh in her. Her discomfort was increasing, and so she changed the subject.

"Why have you come here, sire?" she asked.

"Éomer," he said. "Call me Éomer. If we should have been family…" He frowned, and did not finish his thought. "I am here to see how the Hornburg is recovering. Aunt Alfrida gave me this stack of ledgers—" He motioned to a very large pile of books, one of which was open in front of him. "To examine the accounts over the past four years." Éomer grimaced. "When she brought them, Alfrida told me not to ask for her help, as she had had enough misery doing the accounts in the first place and she did not wish to torture herself again."

Léofe did laugh then. She could very much imagine the lady saying those words. "Why did you not bring the queen?" she asked, starting to enjoy the king's company. "I very much wanted to catch a glimpse of her. I have heard she is as tall as a man and tan as a nut!"

"You have heard correctly." Éomer smiled, and then said: "The queen is with child."

"Oh, how wonderful!" Léofe did not have to falsify enthusiasm for this. A new heir would be wonderful for the Mark!

"Yes. Unfortunately, she is too ill to travel," he sighed. "This fortress is mighty lonely without her."

Léofe tried to say something reassuring, she really did, but when she opened her mouth she was overwhelmed with the truth of that statement, and she ducked her head.

"So," Éomer cleared his throat. "What will you do now? Unencumbered and rich as you are."

"I have thought—that is, I have trained a little with a midwife in a nearby village. I would like to become a midwife myself. Somewhere—far from here."

The king's eyebrows raised at this. "You do not wish to raise horses."

Léofe's hands twisted in her skirt. "No. I wish to do something new, something that cannot remind me of Théodred every moment of the day." She paused. "I—I met a man, a—a soldier. He became a friend." She felt herself flush again. "He has sisters in Edoras who would allow me to live with them while I establish myself in the city."

Éomer grinned. "I am gratified to hear that you have made good plans for yourself. When you come to Edoras, please visit Meduseld. Lot and I would very much enjoy hearing your stories."

It was a kind offer, but Léofe already knew she would never visit her prince's childhood home willingly. But she smiled, and said, "Thank you. And—I am sorry for disturbing you. I only come here when I am feeling anxious or lonely. I should have known this is where you would stay during your visit."

The king glanced around the study which used to be Théodred's, crease lines appearing on his forehead as he sighed. "Yes, I imagine so. Worry not—you will have it to yourself again tomorrow. You are right about Helm's Deep: too many ghosts!"

Léofe stood, smoothing down her skirt. "Fare well, Éomer."

"Fare well, Léofe. Do not forget your coins."

The bag weighed heavily in her hands, but her mind was light, and Léofe left the study feeling remarkably at peace with the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for sticking through this story with me. I apologize for taking so long between updates... but anyway. Let me know what you think! I hope ya'll enjoyed it and I appreciate every single review, even if I haven't replied to them all individually.


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